


Dark Reflection

by Dawn (sunrize83)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Case Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 11:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 35,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrize83/pseuds/Dawn
Summary: The names and places have changed but the story is the same--or is it? Mulder and Scully travel to West Virginia to investigate a disturbingly familiar case.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written with Sally Bahnsen for I Made This Productions Virtual Season 8.

Prologue  
  
8:16 p.m.  
Somewhere in the woods  
Rural West Virginia  
  
  
Twilight spreads across the forest, leeching color from  
the trees and painting the vegetation in shadowy variations  
of black and gray. No longer daylight, not yet night,  
nature holds its collective breath as the last warm  
tendrils of sunlight give way to the cool spill of  
moonlight. Small animals wake and creep from burrow and  
nest, soft rustling of undergrowth and snapping of twigs  
betraying their furtive search for food and water.  
Crickets' reedy high-pitched songs meld with the lower  
rumble of frogs and the whirring of cicadas, creating a  
peaceful cacophony.  
  
Until another sound, piercing, desperate, and completely  
alien, shatters the tranquility. Now silent, the forest  
watches. And waits.  
  
"JACOB!"  
  
*Shock. Bewilderment. All encompassing agony -- red-hot  
nails driven through bone. Can't move, can't run. Small,  
delicate hands push back tangled yellow curls streaked with  
dirt and tears. Blinding white light, blue eyes squinting,  
watering. FEAR.*  
  
"JACOB! HELP ME! HELP ME! JACOB! PLEEEEASE!"  
  
Legs pumping, heart pounding, lungs straining for air.  
Crashing through thickets and brush, slipping on mossy  
stones and tripping over broken branches. Plunging to the  
ground, knees skinned and bloody, palms scraped.  
  
"jacob, help me! don't leave me! jacob!"  
  
Not as loud now. Not as scary now. Scrambling upright,  
shaking twigs and leaves from dark, sweat soaked hair.  
Stumbling onward, cloaked in a numbing fog. Dark eyes  
searching, seeking. Finding the amber glow of safety. Of  
home.  
  
Small is good. Small is safe. Huddled in the corner  
between the bed and the wall, arms wrapped around knees,  
eyes huge. Rocking.  
  
Time slipping. Flowing.  
  
Voices.  
  
"Rachel? Jacob? Where are you?"  
  
Footsteps.  
  
"Jacob? Jacob, what are you doing there? Where's Rachel?"  
Gentle hands tugging, voice high and trembling. Mom.  
  
"Jacob. Jacob, answer your mother!" Deeper. Louder.  
Dad.  
  
"Jacob, WHERE IS YOUR SISTER?"  
  
A whimper at first, it grows - a wail, then a shriek.  
Endless. Mindless. Drowning out comfort, obliterating  
reason, it's too late.  
  
Once the screaming begins, it won't stop.  
  
**********************************  
  
ACT I  
  
9:37 a.m.  
FBI Headquarters  
  
There was a tear in her stocking.  
  
Scully leaned against the wall, out of the flow of  
traffic, and wriggled the toes on her left foot while  
carefully balancing a cup of coffee in each hand. After  
perhaps twenty seconds of pointing and flexing like a  
ballet dancer warming up at the barre, her big toe still  
poked annoyingly through the fabric, and she'd garnered  
more than her share of curious stares.  
  
Scully pressed her lips together and straightened,  
resigned to endure another in the long chain of irritants  
that had dogged her footsteps like a pestering child since  
she'd awakened that morning. As she was startled from a  
deep sleep, her arm flailed, sending the alarm clock  
crashing to the floor where it died an untimely and violent  
death. They'd been flushing the hydrants in her  
neighborhood without giving notice, evidenced by the rusty  
orange water she had no choice but to shower and brush her  
teeth with. She'd donned her favorite pantsuit before  
discovering leftover mud stains from the last time Mulder  
dragged her off to look at phantom crop circles in the  
pouring rain. And to top it all off, she'd burned her very  
last whole-wheat bagel and been reduced to wolfing down one  
of the sugar laden S'mores Pop Tarts she'd purchased for  
Mulder.  
  
Scully grit her teeth and gave her toes one more  
surreptitious wriggle. This day couldn't possibly get worse.  
  
"Agent Scully? A moment of your time, please."  
  
Then again...  
  
Scully performed hasty cosmetic surgery on her expression  
and favored Skinner with a polite nod. He ducked back out  
of sight, and she reversed direction with a sigh. Entering  
the outer office, she returned Kim's smile with a  
conviction she didn't feel and deposited the two Styrofoam  
cups onto the small table beside the couch. Skinner was  
waiting just inside his office, one hand on the doorknob  
and an inscrutable look on his face. Scully crossed to her  
usual chair and sat, watching her boss shut the door and  
settle himself gingerly behind the large oak desk. Freshly  
back to work, one arm still swathed in a sling and flash  
burns from the explosion still healing, Skinner moved with  
an economy that suggested lingering discomfort.  
  
Skinner extracted a manilla folder from a pile at his left  
elbow and opened it on the blotter. "I've been contacted  
by  
the local P.D. in..."  
  
Scully's brows drew together. "Excuse me, sir. Shouldn't  
we wait for Agent Mulder?"  
  
Skinner glanced up sharply, his dark brown eyes stern and  
assessing. "I didn't invite Agent Mulder to this meeting,  
Agent Scully. I wanted to speak with you privately about  
this case."  
  
Scully's eyes narrowed and her voice dropped 10 degrees.  
"I see."  
  
Skinner sighed, shoving his glasses up so that he could  
pinch the bridge of his nose. "No, Scully, you don't see.  
But you will. Please, hear me out."  
  
Scully's brow remained furrowed but she inclined her head.  
  
"Early this morning I spoke to a man named Jonas Sullivan.  
He's the sheriff in Gauley Bridge, West Virginia -- a small  
town about 40 miles outside Charleston. A little girl  
disappeared from her home the night before last. Looked  
like a straightforward kidnapping case until the only  
witness to the crime started talking. An agent from the  
local Bureau familiar with the X-Files division suggested  
contacting Mulder. You and Mulder hadn't arrived yet, so  
the switchboard forwarded the call to this office."  
  
Scully fought the urge to let her eyes slip shut in  
resignation, sensing where the conversation was headed.  
Keeping her expression neutral was difficult, but not  
impossible. "I assume the witness believes the child was  
abducted by aliens?"  
  
Skinner fingered the folder. "Sullivan faxed me the file.  
From what I've read and my admittedly limited knowledge of  
the subject, it looks like a textbook alien abduction  
scenario."  
  
Scully studied her boss's face, taking in the clenched jaw  
and the twitch of a facial muscle high on his left cheek.  
"What aren't you telling me about this case, sir? Who  
exactly is this witness?"  
  
Amazingly, Skinner's jaw tightened further. "The victim's  
11-year-old brother. The parents were at a church meeting.  
He was babysitting."  
  
Scully dropped her eyes to where her hands lay neatly  
folded in her lap. A string of highly unprofessional  
responses remained sealed behind her pursed lips. "This  
meeting isn't really about the case, is it? You want to  
know if I think Mulder can run the investigation and still  
remain objective."  
  
"He's had a difficult year, Scully. We both know this type  
of case pushes some buttons for him."  
  
Scully's head came up, her eyes blazing and her spine  
ramrod straight. "Sir, Agent Mulder is first and foremost  
a  
professional and..."  
  
"Scully." Skinner's voice was quiet but authoritative.  
"He  
took himself off the LaPierre case. I saw your face, you  
were just as stunned as I was. Before I send him back into  
the water I need to know he's not going to drown. Like it  
or not, as his partner you are the best judge of his  
fitness for this type of assignment. Do you or do you not  
feel Mulder is emotionally capable of handling this case?"  
  
Images cascaded through Scully's mind. Mulder's initial,  
eerie sense of peace after learning his sister's fate had  
been a transient balm for deep wounds not so easily healed.  
When the dust settled and reality set in, she'd done her  
best to help him pick up the pieces --occasionally  
buffering the anger and bitterness over his mother's  
suicide; more frequently holding him as he wept over the  
contents of his sister's diary. He'd come a long way.  
Genuine acceptance, not only of some agonizing truths but  
of his inability to change them, had created within Mulder  
a serenity she'd never before witnessed.  
  
But could that fragile peace withstand the onslaught of  
painful memories this case would provoke?  
  
Scully licked her lips. "Sir, as I already stated, Mulder  
is more than competent to..."  
  
A sudden commotion in the outer office cut short her  
reply. Behind the closed door they could hear indignant  
treble interspersed with an equally insistent bass.  
Frowning, Skinner rose to his feet just as the door swung  
open to reveal Mulder, an irate Kim on his heels.  
  
"Agent Mulder, what do you think you're doing?"  
  
"I tried to tell him you were in a closed meeting, sir,  
but he just wouldn't listen," Kim said, her eyes  
telegraphing clearly that if she had her way Mulder would  
be a dead man.  
  
Mulder's bland expression couldn't disguise his fury. "And  
I tried to explain that there's been a mistake. That  
there's no way you'd discuss a possible X-File with the  
department head absent. Isn't that right, *sir*?" The term  
of respect left his lips like a curse.  
  
Skinner locked eyes with his most troublesome agent for a  
long moment before dismissing his assistant with a weary  
wave of his hand. "I'll handle this, Kim."  
  
Mulder's face displayed no triumph as he crossed the room  
and dropped into the empty chair, just a brief glance of  
betrayal directed towards his clearly uncomfortable  
partner. He leaned back, tightly folded arms and rigid  
shoulders screaming defensiveness and mistrust.  
  
Skinner opened his clenched fist and spread his hand flat  
on the desktop. "Agent Mulder, I..."  
  
"You might be surprised to learn I have a friend in the  
Roanoke Bureau. Met him during one of those ridiculous team  
building seminars I couldn't talk my way out of back when I  
was in Violent Crimes. We've managed to stay in touch."  
Mulder's voice was frigid, his eyes the only expressive  
feature in his face. "Matter of fact, I just got off the  
phone with him. He wondered what my thoughts were on a  
kidnapping case. He was pretty confused when I didn't know  
what the hell he was talking about, since the cop in charge  
had already called to request my help on the investigation."  
  
"I just received the information within the last hour,  
Mulder." Skinner's words were clipped, his tone warned  
against insubordination. "I've barely had time to go over  
the details."  
  
Mulder leaned forward, his hands grasping the chair in a  
white-knuckled grip. "But you had time to call my *partner*  
in and discuss them with her! Unless it wasn't the *case*  
that inspired this impromptu meeting of the minds. Worried  
that Spooky's going to hare out, sir?"  
  
Scully shifted to face him, lips compressed in a straight  
line. "Mulder..."  
  
He rounded on her, the rage in his hazel eyes tempered by  
hurt. His voice dropped to a level that excised Skinner  
from the conversation as efficiently as a surgeon's  
scalpel. "So, what did you tell him, Scully?"  
  
Scully met his gaze. The question in Mulder's eyes, the  
uncertainty, could be handled so simply in another time and  
place. Her fingers twining with his, her lips brushing his  
cheek... Mulder was an extremely tactile person. One  
amazing discovery she'd made during their evolving  
relationship was how easily she could reach him with a  
simple touch. Her fingers ruffling a stray lock of hair,  
her thumb stroking the soft skin on the back of his hand --  
even fiddle with his tie, and Mulder turned to putty in her  
hands. Ever mindful of Skinner's scrutiny, she attempted to  
convey the same emotions with her eyes and the barest tilt  
of her lips.  
  
"Before you burst in here, Mulder, I was about to tell the  
A.D. that I feel you are perfectly capable of handling this  
investigation. And that I believe you may just be that  
little girl's best hope."  
  
Mulder blinked. His eyes, formerly black with anger, turned  
a mossy green. Message received.  
  
Sucking in a deep, calming breath, he turned back to  
Skinner. "Any further questions, sir?"  
  
Skinner's eyes darted between them, a look of intense  
concentration on his face. He thrust his jaw forward,  
closed the folder, and held it out to Mulder.  
  
"You'd better get down there ASAP. I'll have Kim make the  
travel arrangements. Contact Sullivan from the Gauley  
Bridge sheriff's office first, he'll see that you have  
access to the crime scene and the family. And Agent  
Mulder..."  
  
Mulder paused, one hand on the doorknob, the other pressed  
to the small of Scully's back. Skinner stood, shoving his  
good hand deep in his pocket.  
  
"This is a small town where everyone knows everyone else's  
business. Tread lightly."  
  
Mulder's lips twisted as if to spout a patented smartass  
response, but Scully's covert touch on his arm stalled it.  
Mulder shot her a brief look of amusement before nodding.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
Scully followed in Mulder's wake as he took up a brisk  
pace through the outer office. She mouthed a quick apology  
in Kim's direction, scooping up the two cups from the side  
table where she'd deposited them earlier.  
  
"Mu...Mulder!" The only acknowledgement that he'd even  
heard her was a cursory glance over his shoulder, his long  
legs striding in the direction of the elevator, file  
tapping aggressively against the top of his thigh.  
  
Scully had received enough attention from onlookers today.  
She bit back the next "Mulder" forming on her lips and  
waited until she caught up with her partner at the elevator.  
  
"Mulder." It was low, non-threatening, not quite pleading.  
  
"I know what you're going to say, Scully." He gave the  
call button two more hard shoves with the heel of his hand,  
as if the elevator would respond to the extra force.  
  
"Really?" Scully, took a step back and would have folded  
her arms across her chest if she hadn't still been holding  
what probably amounted to lukewarm coffee.  
  
Mulder clasped the file under his right arm and brought  
both hands to his face. He scrubbed at his eyes, his voice  
weary and resigned.  
  
"It's the same old story, Scully. Anything involving  
missing children prompts psych evaluations on "Spooky"  
Mulder. Will he hare out? Can he hold it together? Is it  
too close to what happened to his sister? What the hell  
was Skinner thinking? Have I lost so much credibility that  
he finds it necessary to check my state of mind with you  
before assigning me a case?"  
  
Though his eyes reflected both hurt and anger, only the  
latter colored his words.  
  
Before Scully had a chance to answer, the elevator car  
dinged its arrival, the doors opening to reveal a handful  
of people. Without a second thought, Mulder stepped inside  
and planted himself at the back of the crowded car. The  
absence of his guiding hand left a sinking feeling in the  
pit of Scully's stomach. She knew he wasn't angry with her,  
and hoped when he really thought about it he would realize  
that Skinner was only looking out for him.  
  
The doors opened on the ground floor and the last of the  
passengers stepped out. There wasn't a lot to attract FBI  
employees or visitors to the basement. And while in the  
early months of their partnership Scully resented it, now  
she viewed it as a blessing. The basement was their haven,  
an escape from prying eyes and whispering tongues. They  
did good work and she was proud of their accomplishments,  
both professionally and personally. Over time the tag of  
"Mrs. Spooky" had lost its sting, no longer feeling  
like an  
insult.  
  
Mulder unlocked the office and shouldered the door open.  
Scully followed him in, ditching the cold coffee in the  
nearest trashcan as she entered. Mulder retreated to the  
corner of the office and dropped into his chair. He  
propped his feet up on the desk and laid the unopened file  
across his lap. His eyes took up an intense study of the  
wall just above Scully's head as his right hand absently  
stroked his chin.  
  
All the classic signs of Mulder in a sulk.  
  
"Skinner was only trying to help. You've had... it's been  
a tough year for you, Mulder. There's been a lot going on.  
This isn't a straight forward kidnapping case, it appears  
to indicate... The witness is claiming alien abduction."  
  
Scully's shoulders bunched as she anticipated Mulder's  
reaction. He dropped his feet to the floor, heedless of the  
file that slipped from his lap, contents spilling from the  
manila covering. Mulder leaned forward, hands splayed  
across the desktop, his body language reminiscent of  
Skinner's as he'd confronted the wayward agent storming  
into his office.  
  
"I am the head of this division. If the assistant  
director feels I am unfit to handle that responsibility..."  
  
"Mulder! Enough. The A.D. was acting out of concern for  
you. The little I heard before you joined us gave every  
indication that Skinner's intention was to assign this case  
to you. He was just making sure... "  
  
Scully leaned over, gathering one of Mulder's hands in her  
own. She watched as the rigid set to his shoulders relaxed  
and his head dropped until his chin rested on his chest.  
  
"To be perfectly honest with you, I agree with Skinner."  
Mulder's head shot up and he captured her gaze with  
narrowed, suspicious eyes, his hand twitching in hers.  
  
"*Not* because I don't think you can do this, but because  
I think you do this too well. Your ability to empathize  
with the victims, to feel their pain ...it's what gives you  
the edge over other agents. But..."  
  
"But?"  
  
How could she say it without sounding as if she *did*  
doubt his ability?  
  
"Are you sure you're ready for this? To go..."  
  
"Scully. I was too late to save Samantha. I know I can't  
change that. But this little girl... she still has a  
chance. *I'm* that chance. Aliens kidnapping a child?  
They'll just investigate right over the top of that, or  
bury the file so deep it will never surface. I'm 'IT,'  
Scully. I'm the only one that will take those claims  
seriously enough to either prove or disprove them. I have  
to do this. For that little girl. For her family. For me."  
  
Determination, compassion, assurance. They were etched  
into Mulder's features so deeply that Scully wondered how  
she had ever doubted he'd cope. She squeezed the fingers  
still nestled in hers and briefly pulled them to her lips,  
lightly kissing the rough skin across his knuckles.  
  
"Well then, G-Man, I suggest you gather that file up off  
the floor. I'll make us a cup of coffee, and we can go over  
the police report before we leave." Scully smiled up at  
him and released his hand.  
  
"Thanks, Scully."  
  
She threw him a questioning look.  
  
"For backing me up with Skinner and trusting my judgement  
on this."  
  
"Hey, what are partners for?" Scully moved off to make  
the coffee, feeling strangely at odds with the flush she  
could feel spreading across her cheeks.  
  
"And Scully?"  
  
"Mmmhmm?"  
  
"I take two sugars, not one. I know you've been cutting  
them back," he chided lightly.  
  
"Too much sugar is not good for you, Mulder."  
  
"I like my coffee sweet, Scully." He let his voice drop  
an octave. "Just like my women."  
  
He ducked behind his desk to retrieve the file and to  
avoid a well-aimed projectile hurled at him from the  
general direction of his partner, hiding a wide grin as he  
gathered up the strewn papers.  
  
Scully added creamer to her coffee and one sugar to  
Mulder's, pausing before tearing open a second packet.  
  
"You should be getting over the sugar craving by now.  
Have you given any more consideration to using the nicotine  
patches suggested by Dr McManus?" She added the second  
sugar and stirred the hot black liquid before handing it to  
her partner.  
  
"I'm not suffering from nicotine withdrawal, Scully. I  
don't need patches and I'm not craving sugar. I just got  
used to drinking it sweet."  
  
"But..." Scully's train of thought was interrupted by  
the  
insistent trill of Mulder's phone.  
  
"Mulder."  
  
Scully sipped her coffee while Mulder pulled a pen from  
his breast pocket and started jotting notes on a scrap of  
paper.  
  
"Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yep. Okay, thanks, Kim." He replaced  
the receiver back in its cradle and scooped up the file  
from the top of his desk.  
  
"Drink up, Scully. Skinner's signed off on the 302, and  
Kim got us a noon flight to Charleston. We can swing by  
our apartments on the way to the airport."  
  
He was already unlocking his briefcase and stowing the  
folder safely inside. He flipped the catches and rolled  
the combination before swinging it off his desk, grimacing  
as the movement wrenched sore ribs.  
  
Scully observed the pain flicker across his face. Was he  
really up to this? In her heart she knew he was right,  
that he was that little girl's best hope. No one else  
would investigate this case with the same drive and  
determination. Yet she couldn't help worrying that this  
case, like so many others involving children, would take  
its toll.  
  
Mulder paused in the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently  
when he realized she wasn't at his side.  
  
"Are you coming? Time's a-wasting, Scully. Let's go."  
He was practically bouncing on the spot.  
  
"Okay, okay. I'm coming." Scully whisked her own  
briefcase off the floor from behind her chair and preceded  
Mulder out the door, comforted by a light pressure at the  
small of her back.  
  
  
3:06 p.m.  
Gauley Bridge Sheriff's Office  
  
  
"I'll be honest with you, Agent Mulder. I'm not one for  
believin' in little green men."  
  
Sheriff Sullivan tipped his considerable bulk backward,  
eliciting a groan of protest from the rickety wooden chair.  
His index finger tapped his lips as his dark eyes shifted  
between Mulder and Scully.  
  
Scully leaned forward, giving her partner a warning glare  
on the way. "Sir, you called us in on this case. Now there  
must be some reason..."  
  
"I called you in, Agent Scully, because I couldn't come up  
with anything better. Before this, my biggest problem was  
getting Julia Sterns to press charges against her husband  
for knocking her around when he drinks too much. Now I've  
got a little girl missin' and the local feds telling me  
that they don't have enough to go on, just spinnin' their  
wheels. When Agent Mulder's friend mentioned that y'all  
specialize in this type of case, I jumped on the  
suggestion."  
  
"We've read the information you faxed Assistant Director  
Skinner." Mulder's voice was calm, unruffled, his body  
sprawled elegantly in the chair. "Is there anything you'd  
like to add before we interview the Marcussens? Are they a  
close family? I take it from the police report that you are  
a personal friend."  
  
"This isn't Washington, D.C., Agent Mulder; I'm a personal  
friend of just about everyone in town." Sullivan sighed and  
kneaded the back of his neck. "But I guess you could say  
I  
know the Marcussens better than most. I drove Sam and Beth to  
the hospital when she saw fit to have Jacob in the middle  
of a snowstorm. And I helped them find Rachel the time she  
wandered off and got herself lost in the woods. They're  
good, God fearin' folks, and those children mean the world  
to them."  
  
"No one is questioning their devotion to the children,  
Sheriff Sullivan," Scully said, her voice firm but soothing.  
  
"Not out loud anyway." When Scully opened her mouth  
to  
protest further, he held up a callused hand. "Look, I may  
be a babe in the woods compared to you big city fibbies,  
but I'm smart enough to see that, little green men aside,  
there aren't many suspects in this case. I don't intend to  
see Rachel Marcussen turned into another Jon Benet Ramsey.  
You get my meaning?"  
  
Mulder sat up, both feet coming to rest on the floor, his  
hands resting lightly on his knees. "And I can't promise  
to  
respect boundaries that interfere with my ability to do my  
job." His eyes flicked to Scully's, and his tone warmed.  
"What I *can* promise is that I will do everything in my  
power to find out what happened to that little girl, and to  
bring her home safely."  
  
Sullivan's lips compressed to a bloodless line, and his  
eyes bored into Mulder's. Mulder met the scrutiny without  
flinching, shoulders dropping imperceptibly when the  
sheriff finally nodded and stood with a grunt.  
  
"Let's go, then. Sam and Beth are expecting us, and I  
wouldn't want to keep them waiting."  
  
  
3:45 p.m.  
Marcussen residence  
  
"Coffee, Agent Mulder?"  
  
Beth Marcussen was a whip thin woman with dark blonde hair  
and blue eyes so large they swallowed the rest of her heart-  
shaped face. She'd been a bundle of perpetual motion since  
they'd arrived, seating them on an overstuffed couch in the  
living room, bustling off to the kitchen to make a pot of  
coffee, and now serving them with restless, fluttering  
hands. She reminded Scully of a lovely but fragile  
butterfly, unable to settle for long in one spot.  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Marcussen." Mulder smiled as he accepted  
the cup, pointedly ignoring Scully's disapproving stare as  
he spooned in a generous ration of sugar.  
  
"Please, call me Beth. Seems silly to be so formal with  
the folks who we're countin' on to..." She pressed her  
knuckles tightly to her lips to stop the flow of words."  
  
"Mrs. Marcussen -- Beth, please sit down." Mulder's  
voice  
was soft and gentle. The one reserved for victims and  
suffering family members. "We need to ask you and your  
husband a few questions about the night Rachel disappeared."  
  
Beth's shadowed gaze darted to her husband. The antithesis  
to her nervous energy, Sam Marcussen had remained still and  
mostly silent in a large recliner near the fireplace. With  
a tilt of her head, Beth crossed the room to perch on the  
arm of the chair.  
  
"We've read the police report and we've talked to Sheriff  
Sullivan," Mulder said, acknowledging the man with a slight  
nod. "What we'd really like, is to hear the events of that  
night in your own words."  
  
Beth sucked in a long breath of air and tucked a strand of  
hair behind one ear in a gesture that reminded Mulder  
eerily of his partner. "There's so little to tell. Sam and  
I had a meetin' over at the church right after supper.  
They're lookin' for a new pastor, and we're on the  
search committee. There weren't going to be any kids there,  
so Jacob offered to stay home with Rachel. He watches her  
all the time when I go to the grocery store or shoppin'. We  
were only gone an *hour*."  
  
Beth's voice, which had become progressively more wispy,  
broke. Sam placed a large, steady hand over her trembling  
one and squeezed. He turned his haunted eyes on the agents.  
  
"It was full dark by the time we came home, but there were  
no lights on in the house. I thought maybe the kids were  
playing some fool game of hide 'n seek, so I started  
callin' for them. It wasn't 'til they didn't answer that I  
got scared."  
  
"You found Jacob in his room?" Scully prodded.  
  
Sam snorted, but there was no humor in it. "Not at first.  
He was kinda folded up in a little ball, wedged between his  
bed and the wall. Beth saw his foot stickin' out and called  
me. We tried to get him to tell us where Rachel was but it  
was like he couldn't hear us. Just kept rockin' back and  
forth. I was so scared, I guess I got a little rough with  
him. I grabbed holda his arm and shook him, yellin' at him to  
tell us where his sister was." Sam dry washed his face and  
ran trembling fingers through his hair. "He just started...  
screaming. Wouldn't stop until the doc came and gave him  
somethin' to make him sleep."  
  
Scully sipped her coffee to disguise a surreptitious  
glance at her partner. Mulder's face, though a bit pale,  
was composed. "You weren't able to talk to Jacob until  
yesterday morning?"  
  
"No way he was makin' any sense," Sullivan spoke up.  
"We  
tried to search the woods surrounding the house, but it was  
near impossible in the dark. I had a team of volunteers  
cover about a three mile radius yesterday. No one turned up  
a thing."  
  
Mulder gazed out the picture window at the thick forest that  
encircled the small house. He gently placed his cup on  
the coffee table and braced his elbows on his knees. "We'd  
like to speak to Jacob, if you think he's up to it."  
  
Sam and Beth held a silent consultation before she nodded.  
"We knew you would. He hasn't said too much since he talked  
to Jonas and those other agents, hasn't even left his room  
except to eat. But he hasn't started screamin' again  
either." She tried to smile but her lips quivered. "Jacob's  
always been the brave one. Rachel was..." She caught  
herself, "IS more like me, afraid of everything."  
  
"We don't want to upset him, Beth," Scully said, mimicking  
Mulder's actions with her own cup. "We'd just like to hear  
the whole story in his own words. There's always the  
possibility he'll remember something new."  
  
"His room is the last door on your left." Sam stood  
and  
led them to a hallway that ran along the back of the house.  
"Just... He's a little boy who lost his sister. Please,  
don't forget that."  
  
To Marcussen, an almost curt bob of the head and a  
carefully neutral expression communicated professional  
courtesy. To Scully, a reflexive swallow, a tightening of  
jaw muscles, and a few additional lines around the eyes  
betrayed a more emotional response. She moved past Mulder,  
discretely allowing her hand to brush his before continuing  
to Jacob's door. When Mulder reached her side, his  
expression slightly less pinched, she rapped firmly.  
  
"Come in."  
  
Scully wasn't sure exactly what she'd expected -- posters  
of rock bands, perhaps, or famous sports figures? Certainly  
not the schematic of a space station and a periodic table  
of elements. She let her eyes roam the walls and surfaces  
while Mulder strode directly over to where Jacob sat at a  
small wooden table, his head bent over some type of model  
whose pieces were scattered across the polished surface.  
  
"Hi, Jacob. I'm Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully.  
We're trying to help Sheriff Sullivan find your sister."  
  
Jacob carefully set aside what Scully now recognized as a  
partially assembled space shuttle, and methodically wiped  
glue from his fingers before shaking Mulder's outstretched  
hand. He looked each of them up and down coolly.  
  
"Agent?"  
  
"We're from the FBI," Scully explained, making her way  
to  
Mulder's side.  
  
Jacob shoved unruly brown hair off his forehead. "Local?  
Or D.C.?"  
  
Mulder's lips quirked. "D.C. Why?"  
  
Jacob shrugged and fingered one of the tiny pieces. "No  
reason. I just thought that the other agents were givin'  
up."  
  
Something passed across Mulder's face before he circled  
around the table and lifted the half-completed model.  
"Looks like you're really into space exploration," he  
mused, gesturing at various models of rockets and planets  
scattered throughout the room. "Been following the Mars  
launches?"  
  
Jacob made a face. "Yeah, even though they keep losin'  
them. Four spacecraft in one year's pretty sorry, dontcha  
think?"  
  
"They do seem to need a new approach," Mulder agreed,  
crossing over to sit on the bed.  
  
Jacob swiveled to face him. "Look at the Polar Lander --  
it  
smashed to bits! Breakin' thrusters shut down at an  
altitude of 130 feet, and it impacted the surface at about  
50 miles an hour. All 'cause one missin' line of computer  
code told the on board systems that she was safely on the  
surface when she was still in the air. But then, what can  
you expect when they've gone so cheap they've got people  
workin' 80 hour weeks?"  
  
Scully arched an eyebrow in Mulder's direction. Nobody had  
mentioned Jacob Marcussen was 11 going on 30.  
  
Mulder's lips curved as he gently steered the conversation  
back on track. "We're here because of your testimony,  
Jacob. Will you answer some questions for us?"  
  
Jacob shrugged. "Already talked to the other agents.  
Didn't seem like they believed me."  
  
"Well, we're from a division of the Bureau that  
specializes in paranormal phenomena -- exactly the kind of  
thing you say happened to Rachel. Would you mind going  
over what happened the night she disappeared, one more  
time?"  
  
Jacob studied them with intense, dark eyes. "Mom and Dad  
were at a church meetin'. Rache and I aren't allowed to  
play outside when they're not home, so I was foolin' around  
on the computer, and she was watchin' TV. Then all of a  
sudden, the electricity cut out, so we went out front to  
see if anybody else's lights were on. That's when we saw  
the spaceship."  
  
"Spaceship?" Mulder's face reflected only polite interest,  
but Scully watched his hands slowly curl into fists.  
  
Jacob nodded matter-of-factly. "Yep. Had to be. It looked  
kinda like an airplane but it was movin' up, down, and all  
around like a helicopter. And fast! It swooped real low  
over the house, and we ran around to the backyard to follow  
it. Looked like it dropped down into the trees, and we  
could see the light reflectin' up. Before I knew it, Rache  
took off into the woods sayin' she was gonna see a real  
live flyin' saucer. I tried to stop her..."  
  
He looked down, blinking. Scully crouched beside him and  
laid one hand on his knee. "It's all right, Jacob. Take  
your time."  
  
Jacob gave her a tremulous smile before continuing. "I  
would've caught up with her; I'm a much better runner. But  
then there was this really bright light. It swallowed Rache  
up and I couldn't see her anymore. I tried to yell her  
name, but I couldn't talk -- I couldn't even move!" He  
lifted dry eyes to Mulder. "I could hear her scream for me,  
but I couldn't move."  
  
"Did you see the spaceship?" Mulder asked.  
  
Jacob shook his head. "I couldn't see anything, just the  
light. It was so white -- you'd a thought it would be hot,  
but it wasn't. It was cold." He shivered. "Next thing  
I  
knew it was gone, and I could move again. I could still  
hear Rachel screamin' but it sounded far away. I...I ran,  
I guess. I don't really remember much after that 'til my mom  
and dad came in and found me here."  
  
Mulder pressed one fist to his lips, trading a long look  
with Scully. Jerking his gaze from the concern in her blue  
eyes, he stood up.  
  
"Is there anything else you can tell us, Jacob? Anything  
you want to add that you might have forgotten?"  
  
Jacob slowly shook his head. He scooted his chair back to  
the table and calmly picked up the model, though his eyes  
skittered back and forth between Mulder and Scully.  
  
"Thank you for answering our questions, Jacob," Scully  
murmured, straightening up and moving to the door. "We know  
it isn't easy for you to talk about that night."  
  
Mulder pulled open the door and guided Scully through with  
his hand pressed to the small of her back. He turned back  
to Jacob, who was opening a small tube of glue.  
  
"Try not to worry, Jacob. We'll do everything we can to  
find Rachel."  
  
Jacob never lifted his head, and his voice remained  
steady. "You can try all you want, Agent Mulder. But I  
don't think they're gonna bring her back."  
  
Mulder backed into the hallway, unable to tear his eyes  
from the crown of Jacob's shaggy head and the smooth,  
deliberate movements of his small hands until he carefully  
shut the door. He sagged against the wall with eyes closed,  
trembling fingers leaving a trail of unruly spikes in his  
hair. Scully's solid warmth at his elbow encouraged him to  
crack open one eye.  
  
"Well, that was a little too close to home." He molded  
his  
features into a cookie cutter smile, not sure if it was for  
Scully's benefit or his own.  
  
"Mulder, if this case..."  
  
Mulder swallowed the shock like an exceptionally bitter  
pill and peeled himself off the wall. "I'm fine. And the  
Marcussens are waiting."  
  
A brush of his fingers down her arm and he strode up the  
hallway toward the living room. Scully pressed her lips  
tightly together and followed.  
  
********************************  
  
  
  
ACT II  
  
  
4:03 p.m.  
Outside the Marcussen Residence  
  
  
"Agent Mulder, I gotta tell you, when I asked you to come  
out here and take a look at this case I thought you'd help  
put to rest these wild claims of young Jacob." Sheriff  
Sullivan leaned against his car with arms folded across his  
chest and a frown darkening his rugged features.  
  
"Wild claims? You think he's making it up?" Mulder asked  
with mild curiosity. His eyes actively scanned the  
treetops behind the Marcussen's house.  
  
"He's an 11-year-old boy who's lost his sister. I don't  
think he knows up from down right now. I was hopin' you'd  
set him straight, help him remember. Don't get me wrong,  
he's a good kid, but after what happened... well you can't  
blame him for bein' a tad confused."  
  
"Really? He didn't strike me as the type of kid that  
would be easily confused."  
  
Sheriff Sullivan's eyes narrowed, and he pinned Mulder with  
a steely glare.  
  
"And what's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"It means, Sheriff, that despite the recent trauma, Jacob  
appears to be an exceptionally intelligent and self-assured  
kid."  
  
"Excuse us." Scully sidled up to Mulder, took his arm,  
and turned him to face away from the other man.  
  
"Mulder..." The use of his name a quiet warning, letting  
him know he was close to stepping on fragile, law  
enforcement toes. "Remember what Skinner said before we  
left..."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, Scully. I *am* treading lightly. Do you see  
him hopping up and down?" A hint of mischief danced in  
Mulder's eyes.  
  
Scully smiled in relief. The knot that had been growing  
in her stomach since the interview with Jacob was slowly  
untangling as Mulder shed the tight, troubled expression  
that had haunted his face. But she still needed to know,  
to be sure.  
  
"Are you okay with this, Mulder?" She tilted her head  
to  
the side, searching his face for the truth.  
  
"I'm fine. Really. Look, Scully, why don't you head back  
into town with the good sheriff? Check in with the Roanoke  
office and make nice. Ask for Tim Spencer, he'll give you  
the straight story without any attitude. You could also  
look up the doctor who treated Jacob the night Rachel  
disappeared. Maybe Jacob said something... anything before  
he was sedated."  
  
"What are you going to do?"  
  
"I'll take a walk around the Marcussens' property and  
check out the woods, try to come up with some evidence to  
support the boy's story. I also want to interview the  
neighbors, find out if they have anything useful to add."  
  
Sheriff Sullivan sidled closer. "I already talked to them.  
No one saw or heard a damn thing worth repeatin'."  
  
"You have to ask the right questions to get the right  
answers, Sheriff." Mulder spun on his heel and strode  
toward the trees. The thick woods swallowed him within  
minutes.  
  
"Is he always like that?" Sullivan stood with his hands  
on  
his hips, watching Mulder's retreating form.  
  
"Like what?" Scully asked, deadpan.  
  
"Forget it. I'll give you that ride back to town."  
  
**********************************  
  
  
Mulder picked his way through low hanging branches,  
swatting at the odd mosquito as it buzzed past his ear or  
settled on his cheek.  
  
The rich scent of rotting vegetation hung heavily in the  
humid air, and the soft, spongy ground squished under  
Mulder's feet. The shrill chirp of cicadas competed with  
the warbling cry of birds as they called to one another  
above his head. And every now and then a rustle of leaves  
would alert him to some woodland creature scurrying on its  
way in search of food or shelter. But the forest showed no  
intention of confiding the secret of what had happened to a  
little girl on a warm September evening.  
  
Thirty minutes later, Mulder was sweaty, mud-spattered,  
and frustrated. Nothing was consistent with an alleged UFO  
landing site. The treeline bore no evidence of damage, no  
burnt or singed leaves. The foliage remained lush, green,  
and intact.  
  
The sheriff's men had searched a three-mile radius without  
noting anything unusual in their report. How far could a 6-  
year-old girl run in a matter of minutes? The abduction  
had to have taken place close to the family home.  
  
Mulder had begun his exploration in the hope of finding  
something that would corroborate Jacob's story, lend  
credence to his claims. Instead, he'd come up empty. He  
gave the ground a halfhearted kick and craned his neck  
skyward as if the answer would fall from the heavens.  
Dropping his eyes, he scanned the trees one last time  
before hiking back toward the house.  
  
Maybe the neighbors would be of more help.  
  
  
4:58 p.m.  
Millers' Residence  
  
  
"It's a cryin' shame, I swear, Agent Mulder. Dear little  
thing just up an' disappearin' like that. I don't know  
what the world's comin' to when folks ain't even safe in  
their own homes. The Marcussens are real good community-  
minded folks. They deserve better. Beth's on the PTA over  
to the school, and her Sam's always up there fixin' this,  
mendin' that -- real handy. And little Rachel..." Louise  
Miller swiped at her eyes with a tissue. "I can't believe  
this has happened; it's a cryin' shame. A cryin' shame.  
Can I get you another glass of lemonade?"  
  
"No, thanks. Still working on this one." Mulder smiled  
and held up his glass, half full. "I really appreciate  
you helping us out with our inquiries. Can you tell me  
what you remember from the night Rachel disappeared? Did  
you notice anything... unusual?"  
  
"Well, that's the thing, Agent Mulder, I didn't. I know  
what that poor boy is sayin'. Crazy talk about aliens  
landin' and takin' little Rachel. 'Course he ain't thinkin'  
straight right now. How could he, losin' his sister an'  
all?"  
  
"So you didn't see any strange lights, hear any odd sounds?"  
  
"No sir. The night passed just like any other 'round here,  
nice an' quiet."  
  
"What about the power? Was there any interruption of your  
electricity?"  
  
Louise's face twisted with confusion. "Why, heck no. We was  
all watchin' the TV 'bout the time little Rachel was  
s'posed to've gone missin', and we'd sure have known if the  
power went out."  
  
Mulder glanced around the modest living room. The  
television was the centerpiece of the room. A sofa and two  
armchairs, including the one in which he was seated, faced  
it. Photos adorned the top of the TV, pictures of Louise, a  
man Mulder assumed to be her husband, and two children -- a  
boy with cropped blond hair and smiling brown eyes, and a  
little girl with pigtails and missing teeth.  
  
"Are those your children, Mrs. Miller?" Mulder tilted  
his  
head toward the photos.  
  
She nodded, eyes brightening and lips curving. "Luke an'  
Jessica. They're the same age as Jacob an' Rachel. Oh my,  
how Beth and Sam must be sufferin' right now." The smile  
wavered, then crumbled as she dabbed at her eyes and nose  
again with the tissue.  
  
Mulder discreetly averted his gaze, waiting for her to  
compose herself before resuming his line of questioning.  
  
"I'm sorry, Agent Mulder. This is just so hard to  
understand. So hard to believe. My kids are real friendly  
with Jacob an' Rachel, in the same class at school an' all."  
  
The sound of a door slamming shut and the high pitched  
squeal of children's laughter rang through the house.  
  
"I'm telling Mama!"  
  
"No! Luke, stop it!"  
  
"Ha, ha. Betcha can't catch me!"  
  
More laughter was followed by the sound of running feet.  
  
"Kids! Hey, cut that out! How many times have I warned you  
about runnin' through the house?"  
  
At the sound of their mother's voice, two young faces,  
sweaty and rosy cheeked, pulled up short just inside the  
living room door, chests heaving and laughter still  
bubbling.  
  
"Mama, tell Luke to stop ticklin' me," the little girl  
whined, but there was no malice in her words.  
  
"Luke, leave your sister alone. Now quiet down you two;  
we got company."  
  
Two sets of eyes strayed from their mother to take up a  
steady examination of the stranger sitting in their living  
room.  
  
"This here's Agent Mulder. He's from the FBI in  
Washington DC. He's come all the way to help find Rachel.  
Agent Mulder, these are my children, Luke and Jess."  
  
The little girl took two tentative steps towards Mulder.  
"You gonna bring Rachel back home, mister?"  
  
"I'm going to try my hardest. Were you and Rachel friends?"  
  
"Uh-huh. She's my best friend."  
  
Mulder turned his attention to the older boy. "What about  
you, Luke? Do you and Jacob hang out together?"  
  
A nearly imperceptible shadow passed across both faces. Jess  
looked at her brother with wide-eyed anticipation, lips  
pressed in a tight line. The boy's startled gaze held  
Mulder's for only a second before he lifted one shoulder in  
a half-hearted shrug and turned to his mom.  
  
"Can I be excused, please? Jimmy's waitin' for me at the  
lot; he's expectin' me back any minute. I only come home  
to get my mitt and ball." He tugged on his sister's arm.  
"C'mon Jess, we gotta get goin'."  
  
Mrs. Miller shot Mulder a look that said, "What can you  
do?" and bobbed her head. "Go ahead. You know the rules,  
though, be back before dark!"  
  
Jessica puffed a quiet sigh and her face relaxed.  
  
Something niggled at Mulder's brain. What had just passed  
between Jess and her brother?  
  
"Kids, huh? Just one big bundle of energy." Louise shook  
her head, smiling indulgently as the back door slammed shut  
again. "Agent Mulder? I sure hope you can find Rachel.  
Jacob'll be lost without his sister. Those two are like  
peas in a pod, always together. Jacob doted..." She paused  
at  
her choice of words, the tissue working convulsively in her  
hands. "I mean, he *does* dote on her. We gotta think  
positive, right? No wonder that poor boy's seein' aliens  
and such -- probably the only way he can cope."  
  
"I'll do everything within my power to bring Rachel back  
safely, Mrs. Miller." Mulder placed his empty glass on the  
table and reached inside his coat pocket. He offered a  
card to the woman in front of him. "If you think of  
anything else, you can reach me on my cell phone or contact  
the sheriff's department. Thank you again for your help."  
  
"My pleasure, sir. Like I said, I hope you find that  
sweet little girl."  
  
For just a moment time slipped backward, and Louise Miller  
wore Billie LaPierre's face. Mulder blinked and mustered a  
nod. "I hope so too."  
  
  
6:47 p.m.  
New River Lodge  
  
  
Scully tossed her keys onto the cheap pressboard table,  
kicked off her shoes, and sagged against the wall with a  
gusty sigh. The connecting door to Mulder's room hung ajar,  
and the hiss of water on tile drifted through the opening.  
Tucking back a strand of auburn hair turned mutinous by the  
humidity, she padded into her partner's room.  
  
"Mulder, I'm back." She pitched her voice to be heard  
over  
the shower while rescuing a pair of Armani pants from a  
heap on the floor.  
  
"Hey, Scully. How'd it go with the doctor?"  
  
She eyed the dried mud splattered around the hem of each  
leg before folding them neatly. "He was very helpful. I'll  
tell you all about it later. I'm starving, Mulder."  
  
His low chuckle, dark and smooth as molasses, chased away  
a little of her weariness. "Pizza's on the way. I'll be out  
in a minute."  
  
Pizza. Mulder considered it one of the five basic food  
groups. Scully assessed the gnawing in her belly coupled  
with the desire to don an old pair of shorts and a tee  
shirt and decided pizza didn't sound so bad after all.  
  
By the time the pizza arrived she'd shed her suit, and  
Mulder was sprawled on her bed, his wet hair making an  
annoying damp spot on one of the pillows. Scully set the  
carton and a nondescript white paper bag on the table,  
pausing with her hand on the lid.  
  
"Why am I suddenly afraid to open this, Mulder?"  
  
He sat up, palm pressed to his heart and a wounded  
expression plastered on his face. "Trust, Scully. I thought  
it was the cornerstone of our partnership."  
  
Scully arched an eyebrow to demonstrate how unimpressed  
she was with his theatrics. "I trust you with my life,  
Mulder. Just not my stomach."  
  
She flipped back the lid, mouth curving in a smile. Mulder  
peered over her shoulder, the scent of his shampoo in her  
nose and the warmth of his breath on her neck intoxicating.  
  
"Pepperoni, bacon, and onion for me, veggies and extra  
cheese for you." She could sense the smile without using  
her eyes.  
  
Tilting her head back until it rested on his shoulder, she  
grinned up at him. "If there's a Diet Coke in that bag..."  
  
Mulder reached around her to produce a white and red can.  
"Never doubt it, Scully."  
  
She nibbled her way through two slices while Mulder  
recounted his walk in the woods and the interview with  
Louise Miller. Under the guise of slurping strings of  
cheese and sipping soda, she observed him carefully. Though  
he'd obviously regained his equilibrium, she sensed  
something still bothered him. His voice softened when he  
described the absence of heat damage to the trees; and when  
he related his brief encounter with Luke and Jess Miller,  
his gaze turned distant, his manner preoccupied.  
  
"Mulder?"  
  
Her verbal nudge brought him back from wherever he'd gone,  
and he smiled. "What about you? Did you speak with Tim?"  
  
Scully's eyes crinkled and she pursed her lips. "Oh, I had  
a very productive chat with your friend, Mulder. None of it  
will help solve this case, but it was still very...  
enlightening."  
  
Mulder dropped his head back to stare at the ceiling with  
a loud groan. "Oh God, what was I thinking?"  
  
Scully gave him a long, deliberately speculative look.  
"You know, I always have pictured you as the type to sow  
his wild oats."  
  
Mulder literally squirmed in his chair before getting up  
and pacing to the window. "Have they turned up anything  
new?"  
  
She shook her head, watching in amusement as he fiddled  
with the cord that controlled the drapes. "Not a thing. The  
prevailing opinion is that Rachel's either lost out in  
those woods or in the hands of someone who has no interest  
in money."  
  
"Spencer always was a little more open minded than most."  
He snorted, turning around. "Obviously -- he befriended  
Spooky Mulder."  
  
Scully didn't bother to conceal her smirk. "Come clean,  
Mulder. Did you really get so drunk that you..."  
  
"So, what did Jacob's doctor have to say?"  
  
Letting him off the hook, Scully made a mental note to  
revisit the conversation in the future. "His name is Warren  
Blake and he's a GP -- takes care of the whole family. He  
describes both Jacob and Rachel as average, healthy kids."  
  
Mulder dropped back into his chair. "Surely he's aware  
that Jacob's intelligence is far from average."  
  
"Not just above average -- well within range for MENSA.  
Blake said he's been tested at 162."  
  
His teeth worried his lower lip. "Kids with exceptionally  
high IQs often have difficulty relating to their peers,"  
he  
murmured, more to himself than to Scully.  
  
Scully's brow furrowed but she continued. "According to  
Blake, Jacob is a model child. Very polite, very helpful."  
  
"And the night of Rachel's abduction?"  
  
Scully contemplated mentioning that very little about this  
case pointed to abduction, but prudently held her tongue.  
"When Baker got to the Marcussens' they'd managed to coax  
Jacob out from the corner, but he was still pretty  
incoherent. He said the boy kept repeating something about  
a bright light and not being able to move. He finally had  
to administer a mild sedative to calm Jacob down. Said he  
hadn't seen him that upset since the time Rachel got lost  
in the woods."  
  
Mulder looked up sharply. "Sheriff Sullivan mentioned that  
incident. Blake was involved?"  
  
"Initially he participated on one of the search teams,"  
Scully replied, puzzled by Mulder's abrupt and intense  
focus. "He wound up staying back at the house when Beth  
became hysterical. Mulder, I can't help wondering if what  
we have here isn't a simple repetition of that incident.  
Jacob admits Rachel went running off into the woods..."  
  
"How did Rachel become lost?"  
  
Scully frowned. "I didn't ask. Blake did say she was no  
more than two or three at the time. The way he tells it,  
Rachel has always been a rather accident-prone child." She  
held up a hand. "And before you ask, Blake vehemently  
denied any signs of child abuse. He depicts Sam and Beth  
Marcussen as model parents, and assured me that although  
Rachel has suffered more than the average number of  
childhood traumas, Jacob is disgustingly healthy."  
  
She watched him absently picking pepperoni off a slice of  
pizza without consuming it, noticing for the first time  
that he'd eaten very little. Placing both elbows on the  
table she leaned into his personal space -- a little trick  
she'd learned from the master.  
  
"Mulder, are you going to eat that pizza, or autopsy it?"  
  
His fingers froze in the act of extracting a scrap of  
bacon, and he adopted a smartass grin. "Aw c'mon, Scully,  
be a sport. Mom never let me play with my food."  
  
*Deflecting*, Scully thought as he wiped the greasy digits  
on a napkin and picked up his soda. Mulder used humor like  
a shield whenever real life hit a little too close to home.  
  
"Mulder, something is obviously bothering you. What is it?"  
  
Both eyebrows soared and his eyes flew wide open. "I don't  
know what you're talking about, Scully."  
  
"I think you do. You haven't been yourself ever since we  
talked to Jacob Marcussen."  
  
The feigned innocence gave way to anger. "I already told  
you, Scully, I'm fine."  
  
"That's bullshit, Mulder, and you know it! You were barely  
holding it together outside Jacob's room, and you've been  
distant and distracted all through dinner." She sighed,  
sliding her hand across the table and tangling her fingers  
with his. "Mulder, that boy could be you. You'd have to be  
made of stone not to be affected by this case."  
  
He refused to meet her eyes, but his fingers curled to  
stroke her palm. "I... It's not what you think, Scully."  
  
She waited, the restless shifting of his body testifying  
that more was coming. His voice was very soft, and very  
calm.  
  
"Scully, did you know that when Samantha disappeared, I was  
a suspect?"  
  
She could feel her jaw drop, her brows squeeze together.  
Mulder ignored her discomfiture, never lifting his eyes or  
breaking the slow, steady stroking of his thumb.  
  
"True, I was hysterical -- catatonic, even. But my  
father's gun was lying on the living room floor. It  
wouldn't be the first time one sibling killed another, due  
to anger or a game gone tragically awry. Samantha and I  
were typical kids, we had more than our share of brawls.  
And I was precocious, too smart for my own good, according  
to some. I wouldn't be surprised if there aren't those who  
still believe I killed her and hid the body somewhere."  
  
Scully finally located her voice. "Mulder. What exactly  
are you trying to say? Surely you don't suspect Jacob  
Marcussen of murdering his sister?"  
  
She wanted him to laugh. To flash her that maddening smirk  
and declare, "I got you, Scully. Big time." But when  
Mulder  
raised his head his eyes were deadly serious.  
  
"All I'm saying right now, Scully, is that I don't think  
aliens abducted Rachel Marcussen. And I really want to know  
why Jacob says they did."  
  
Scully gaped at him a moment before shaking her head.  
"Mulder, there are many more plausible explanations than..."  
  
He stood, gently drawing his hand from hers. "I want to  
talk to the Marcussens first thing in the morning, Scully.  
Jacob should be in school, so it will be the perfect  
opportunity to ask questions without worrying about him  
overhearing."  
  
Scully grit her teeth. "What kind of questions? Excuse me,  
Mrs. Marcussen, but has Jacob ever tried to kill his  
sister?"  
  
Mulder turned away, but not before she saw the hurt on his  
face. "I need to hear exactly what happened when Rachel was  
lost in the woods. And her other 'accidents.'"  
  
The mule-ish tone of his voice erased her momentary  
regret. "I can't believe you're considering this, Mulder.  
He's just a little boy."  
  
Mulder crossed to the connecting door, pausing with one  
hand on the jamb. "So were Jeffrey Dahmer, and Ted Bundy.  
Monsters aren't conjured from thin air, Scully. They have  
parents and a childhood just like you and me."  
  
She stared at the open doorway long after he'd vanished  
through it.  
  
  
9:14 a.m.  
Marcussen Residence  
  
  
"We appreciate you speaking with us again, Mrs. Marcussen.  
Particularly on such short notice."  
  
Mulder reclaimed the seat he'd occupied the previous  
afternoon, casting an uneasy glance at his partner as she  
silently joined him. They'd exchanged less than two dozen  
words, all couched in excruciatingly polite terms, since  
he'd retreated to his room after dinner. He knew she felt  
repulsed by his suspicions regarding Jacob, and frustrated  
with his inability to provide concrete evidence to back  
them.  
  
Unable, or unwilling? Scully had a very limited  
acquaintance with Fox Mulder the profiler. Other than his  
unavoidable slide during the Mostow case, he'd carefully  
shielded her from that side of himself -- though he  
couldn't combat the "Spooky" Mulder legends that still  
circulated through the Bureau. Truth was, a great deal of  
his profiling ability rested in pure instinct. Yes, his  
eidetic memory allowed him to assimilate and piece together  
an incredible amount of seemingly unrelated data. But when  
push came to shove, it was his gut *feeling* about a case --  
and the killer -- that earned him his nickname.  
  
And he had a feeling about Jacob Marcussen that wouldn't  
go away.  
  
"It's Beth, Agent Mulder. And I'll be happy to do whatever  
I can to help bring Rachel home." Exhaustion ringed Beth  
Marcussen's eyes, and her hands trembled until she clasped  
them tightly together. "Sam isn't home. He and a few of our  
neighbors are off takin' another look in the woods, just in  
case..." She pressed her folded hands tightly against her  
lips. "What did you want to ask me?"  
  
"You mentioned another time Rachel was missing, when she  
was just a toddler. Did she..."  
  
Mulder's question cut off abruptly when Jacob wandered  
into the living room. His brown eyes lingered on first  
Scully and then Mulder before coming to rest on his mother.  
  
"Mama, I wanna go down to Mrs. Hayes' house to see the  
puppies."  
  
Beth slipped an arm around his waist and gave him a small  
frown of disapproval, though her tone remained mild.  
"Where's your manners, Jacob? Say hello to Agent Mulder and  
Agent Scully."  
  
Jacob ducked his head and flashed them half a smile.  
"Hello."  
  
"Hello, Jacob. It's nice to see you again."  
  
Mulder struggled not to feel rebuked by the warmth in  
Scully's voice. "Hi Jacob."  
  
Jacob looked at him. Time slowed, and Scully and Beth  
faded to the background as Mulder's gaze locked with the  
boy's. For just a moment, he was certain he saw something  
cold and calculating in those eyes, a touch of scorn in the  
smile. Then Jacob blinked and turned back to Beth.  
  
"Please, Mama? Mrs. Hayes says I can come over whenever I  
want."  
  
Beth smiled and pulled him close, her eyes shiny. "Go  
ahead then. But mind your manners, and be back before  
lunch!"  
  
Jacob wormed his way out of her grasp, but paused in the  
doorway. "Mrs. Hayes says I can take one home if you say  
yes. Can I, Mama? Please?"  
  
Beth's smile vanished and her pale brow furrowed. "Jacob,  
we've been over this a hundred times. You can't bring home  
one of those puppies; your sister's allergic! Havin' a dog  
in the house would make Rachel sick, you know that."  
  
Jacob looked away, his mouth drawn in a thin line. "How  
about if Rachel doesn't come back? Can I have a puppy then?"  
  
His mother jerked as if struck, face twisting. "Jacob! How  
can you even..." She sucked in a long, slow breath. "Rachel  
*will* be back. Now go play."  
  
Jacob's eyes narrowed, and he stole a quick look at Mulder  
before disappearing through the doorway. Beth forced a  
shaky laugh and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of one  
hand.  
  
"Kids! Hard to figure sometimes. I'm not sure why I kept  
him  
home from school today. Guess it was more for me, than the  
boy." She looked back and forth between the agents.  
"Coffee? It's no trouble, really."  
  
Five minutes and a pot of coffee later, Beth had visibly  
calmed. Mulder set his cup down and leaned back, one arm  
stretched along the back of the couch behind Scully.  
  
"Mrs. M... I mean, Beth. Could you tell us about the time  
Rachel wandered off and became lost in the woods?"  
  
Beth frowned. "I don't see what use it could be, Agent  
Mulder, but I will. Rachel was only two at the time, and  
Jacob seven. Jacob was playin' in his room and Rachel was  
watchin' TV -- Barney, I think -- so I went to take a quick  
shower. When I came out to check on them --couldn't have been  
more than ten minutes -- Jacob was still in his room but  
Rachel was gone. I didn't worry at first. Rachel loved to  
play hide 'n seek, and the house was childproofed. Then I saw  
the back door was open and I panicked. A grown man can get  
lost in those woods, and she was just a baby." Her voice,  
which had become progressively rougher, broke, and she  
sipped some coffee. "It took a search party nearly three  
hours  
to find her. Thank Jesus it wasn't a very cold day or she  
might have froze."  
  
"Guess things weren't as childproofed as you thought,"  
Mulder remarked very gently.  
  
Beth shook her head vehemently, eyes bright. "That's the  
strangest part, Agent Mulder. I had one of those plastic  
rings on the doorknob that's supposed to keep little ones  
from openin' the door. Somehow she did it anyway."  
  
Mulder nodded, glancing over at his partner, but Scully  
kept her eyes studiously fixed on Mrs. Marcussen.  
  
"My nephew is like that," she told Beth. "Into  
absolutely  
everything! My brother and sister-in-law can hardly keep up  
with him."  
  
A feeble smile tugged at the corners of Beth's mouth.  
"That's the odd thing. Rachel had never been that kind of  
child; she was always good as gold. Jacob, now, he was  
always tryin' to open cupboards and takin' things apart.  
Sam used to call him Taz, 'cause he said Jacob reminded him  
of the Tasmanian Devil."  
  
A flicker of movement just over Beth's shoulder caught  
Mulder's eye, and he stared at the open doorway while Beth  
continued to expound on the challenges involved in raising  
an exceptionally bright child. Convinced he'd been  
mistaken, Mulder returned his attention to the interview.  
  
"Dr. Blake mentioned that Rachel has quite an extensive  
medical file," Scully was saying.  
  
Beth winced. "Poor child is terribly clumsy. 'Course, I  
can't say I'm particularly coordinated myself, always  
seemed to have two left feet. Rachel's always takin' a  
tumble down the stairs or fallin' off the jungle gym. Sam  
says she ought to own stock in the Band-Aid company."  
  
"Jacob and Rachel are pretty close?" Mulder watched  
Beth's  
face intently, one thumb rubbing the back of his hand.  
  
Beth shrugged. "Close as any, I guess. They fight, of  
course, and Rachel complains that Jacob's bossy. I don't  
leave them alone often, mostly 'cause Rachel doesn't like  
it. She says she's afraid there'll be a fire or a robber'll  
come and Jacob won't be able to protect her." Her lips  
curved, but her eyes showed only sorrow. "Like I said,  
Rachel scares easy."  
  
She stood and gathered their cups onto the tray. Mulder  
reached out to help, but succeeded in spilling the dregs  
from his cup onto his tie.  
  
"Here." Beth handed him a paper napkin to blot the dark  
liquid, and gestured down the hallway. "There's a bathroom  
right across from Jacob's room if you'd like to rinse that  
out."  
  
"Thanks, I'll do that."  
  
The shadowed hallway contrasted sharply with the  
brilliance of the sunny living room. Mulder made a  
perfunctory stop in the bathroom to splash water on his  
tie, then paused outside Jacob's room, head cocked. Scully  
and Beth's voices, reduced by distance to abstract  
murmuring, gave him the reassurance he sought. He carefully  
turned the brass knob and pushed, freezing in place with a  
grimace when the wood creaked a protest. When the  
conversation in the other room proceeded without a break,  
he cautiously stepped inside.  
  
An odd conglomeration, he mused, fingering a carefully  
constructed replica of Apollo 8 perched beside a deck of  
Pokemon cards. Books explaining the physics behind  
launching the space shuttle occupied the same shelf as an  
impressive collection of comics. A chart of the solar  
system stretched across the ceiling above Jacob's bed, but  
a poster of Michael Jordan covered one wall. From the looks  
of things, the boy had already gone through a dinosaur  
phase -- a model tyrannosaurus stood atop textbooks about  
paleontology, and a plastic bin of assorted Jurassic Park  
figures lay nearby.  
  
More than a child, not an adult -- Mulder gnawed on his  
lip and tried not to remember. He wondered if Jacob had  
learned to stop asking questions, to keep silent during  
class discussions. Egghead. Brainiac. Know it all. Kids  
don't like a classmate who has all the answers, and  
teachers quickly become uncomfortable when asked questions  
they can't answer. Only discovering how to blend in with  
the crowd, and later his athletic prowess, had spared him  
from winding up an outcast.  
  
But not before a few hard lessons.  
  
Mulder sighed and ran his fingers through his hair,  
turning slowly. What had he expected to find? A list of  
ways to get rid of your sister? A written confession? He  
fiddled with Jacob's computer, clicking on several files  
that turned out to be saved games of Myst and Doom. A stack  
of pencil drawings on the corner of the desk captured his  
interest, and he flipped through them.  
  
A creature that looked like a yellow and brown striped  
squirrel. Obi Wan and Darth Maul dueling with light sabers.  
Six puppies chasing a ball. Mulder flipped to the final  
picture and stilled, eyes narrowed.  
  
A spaceship, hovering over the ground. A little girl  
surrounded by a beam of light and suspended in midair,  
screaming. A boy hiding behind a tree, watching. Smiling.  
  
Mulder stared at the drawing for a long moment, then  
replaced it. He turned toward the door, mindful that Scully  
and Beth would soon miss him, when something under Jacob's  
mattress caught his eye. He crossed the room and dropped to  
his knees, leaning in for a closer look.  
  
Paper, glossy and colorful. He slid one hand between  
mattress and box spring and lifted, pulling out a small  
stack of magazines. And gaped.  
  
"Alien Encounter." "Sightings." "UFOs  
\-- The Untold Story."  
  
Pulp magazines filled with lurid tales of flying saucers  
and alleged irrefutable proof of extraterrestrial life.  
Mulder, noticing certain pages had been dog-eared, turned  
to the marked spot. A chill raced up and down his spine,  
and he quickly checked the next marked page. And the next.  
He examined each magazine, his throat tightening and a  
headache hammering just behind his eyes.  
  
Abduction experiences.  
  
Jacob Marcussen had his own little reference library  
hidden beneath his mattress.  
  
A soft rasp, like the whisper of sneakers on carpet,  
snapped Mulder's head up from the magazines. He scrambled  
to his feet and strode to the door, cautiously poking his  
head out. The hallway was vacant, and he could still hear  
Scully and Beth in the living room. He rested his head  
against the doorjamb and blew out a long breath of air  
before realizing he still held the magazines in his hands.  
After only a slight hesitation, Mulder lifted the back of  
his jacket and stuffed them under his belt at the small of  
his back. He smoothed the wrinkles from his jacket and the  
frown from his face before rejoining the two women.  
  
"There you are." Beth squinted at his soiled tie. "Doesn't  
look like the water helped much, Agent Mulder."  
  
Mulder put on a smile. "That's why I have a good dry  
cleaners." He looked at Scully and tipped his head almost  
imperceptibly toward the door. Interpreting the gesture  
correctly, she rose and offered Beth her hand.  
  
"Thank you for your time, Beth."  
  
"No trouble, Agent Scully. Talkin' to y'all makes me feel  
like I'm doin' *somethin'* to help find my little girl."  
Her voice quivered but her shoulders remained squared, her  
gaze determined.  
  
Mulder ushered Scully through the door but paused before  
following. "Beth, would you mind giving me the names of the  
children's teachers?"  
  
A thin line appeared between her eyebrows. "Agent Mulder,  
you sure do ask some of the strangest questions. Rachel is  
in Irene Pollard's class and Jacob has Kathy Fergus."  
  
Mulder smiled. "Thank you. We'll stay in touch."  
  
Scully turned to him when they reached the car. "What was  
that all about?"  
  
Mulder unlocked Scully's door before circling around to  
the driver's side. "What?"  
  
"The children's teachers? Mulder, please don't tell me you  
plan on driving over to the school to talk to..." She  
trailed off, lips quirking in amusement as Mulder slid  
behind the wheel and began gyrating around on the seat as  
he attempted to reach his hand down the back of his pants.  
"Mulder, what in the hell are you doing? You're acting like  
you've got ants in your pants."  
  
"I'd ask you to do this for me, Scully, but we're on  
duty," he replied, managing a respectable leer that turned  
to a look of triumph when he produced the magazines.  
  
Scully stared at them, lips parted. "Mulder! Did you take  
those from the Marcussens?"  
  
"Look at them, Scully. They were in Jacob's room."  
  
Her incredulity twisted into a scowl. "You spilled that  
coffee on purpose, didn't you? You did it so you could  
snoop through that little boy's room."  
  
Mulder clenched his teeth. "*Look* at them, Scully."  
  
She pressed her lips tightly together and snatched them  
from his hands. After studying each cover and flipping  
quickly through the pages, she lifted her eyes and pinned  
him with an icy glare.  
  
"All right, I looked. And I can't say I see anything to  
justify removing private property."  
  
"Scully, those magazines outline countless abduction  
experiences in vivid detail. And he's got them marked  
like... like research material!"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Mulder, are you suggesting that  
Jacob is deliberately lying about what happened to Rachel?"  
  
"He clearly has an extensive knowledge of abduction  
scenarios, Scully, and his testimony combines all the  
classic elements."  
  
"Mulder, Jacob is obsessed with space, something you  
should certainly be able to understand. He experienced a  
severe trauma and his 11-year-old mind couldn't cope. So he  
subconsciously created a fantasy. It's hardly surprising  
that fantasy would include aliens and spaceships."  
  
"They were hidden under his mattress, Scully," Mulder  
said  
tightly. "It was pure luck that I found them."  
  
Scully snorted, opening one of the magazines to a garish  
illustration of a man pinned to a table by a laser beam  
while bug-eyed aliens looked on. "Probably for the same  
reason I used to hide my MAD magazines, Mulder. My mom  
would've tossed them in the garbage if she'd ever found  
them." She thrust the magazines back into his lap.  
  
Mulder slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "Damn  
it, Scully, why can't you see it? Rachel's injuries,  
getting lost in the woods... She got out a childproofed  
door because *she* didn't open it -- Jacob did! Yesterday  
he as much as tells me she won't be coming back, and today  
he's asking for a puppy! And to top it all off, he's gotten  
all the details of his story from these magazines. Can't  
you at least admit the possibility that he's responsible  
for Rachel's disappearance?"  
  
Scully shook her head, her expression bewildered rather  
than angry. "Mulder, you were once exactly where Jacob is  
now. How can you accuse another child of something so  
brutal, so...so calculating?"  
  
Mulder dropped his head onto the seatback and closed his  
eyes. "Scully, when I was with Violent Crimes we  
investigated the murder of a 4-year-old boy. He disappeared  
while at the mall with his mother; she turned her back for  
only a moment, and he was gone. We found his body the next  
day in a dumpster near some railroad tracks, barely  
recognizable. He'd been beaten with a baseball bat, burned  
with cigarettes -- his skull had been smashed with a large  
rock."  
  
He let his head loll toward her and opened bleak eyes. "We  
eventually caught the murderers, thanks to an eyewitness  
who saw them leading the child away from the mall. It was  
two 12-year-old boys, Scully. They had this idea, see, of  
how to spice up their summer. Strangling puppies and  
setting cats on fire gets boring after a while." He  
swallowed thickly. "I was in the room when they confessed.  
Neither one ever shed a tear."  
  
Scully's hand crept across the seat, her fingers soft and  
warm on the back of his hand. "I'm sorry, Mulder. Sorry you  
had to experience that kind of horror, and sorry it will  
always be a part of you. I just don't..."  
  
"Just trust me on this, okay, Scully? Let's talk to  
Jacob's teacher, find out what kind of kid he is when he's  
not with Mom and Dad."  
  
She looked into his eyes for a long moment before nodding.  
"All right, Mulder. But I still think you're on the wrong  
track."  
  
Mulder gave her hand a brief squeeze before reaching up to  
turn the ignition. "I never thought I'd say this, Scully.  
But this time, I hope you're right."  
  
  
***************************************  
  
  
ACT III  
  
  
10:56 a.m. Gauley Bridge Elementary school  
  
  
  
The monotonous drone of children's voices sing-songing the  
well-known chant of a jumping rope rhyme drifted through  
the air. Mid morning sun combined with black asphalt to  
create an eerie shimmer as the heat rose from its dark  
surface. The peculiar yet familiar stench of stale orange  
peel, old sandwich crusts, and dried up apple cores filled  
the air, reminding Scully of her own days spent in  
schoolyard playgrounds.  
  
"Can you smell that, Mulder? There's something about the  
smell of a schoolyard that remains constant throughout time  
and space." Scully closed her eyes and sniffed the air.  
  
"Yeah, makes me think that someone forgot to take out the  
trash." Mulder broke his stride only long enough to answer  
her before continuing towards the large glass doors of the  
school building.  
  
Various forms of climbing equipment -- some new and  
brightly colored, others worn, shabby, and giving the  
impression they had seen better days -- dotted a grassy  
play area to the left of the concrete path. Scully's steps  
faltered as she slowed to watch a gaggle of rosy-cheeked  
children swinging, sliding, and playing tag while their  
teacher looked on with a tolerant smile. A little girl with  
a cap of strawberry blonde hair raced past, squealing in  
delight as she evaded the outstretched hand of a little boy  
hot on her heels.  
  
*Emily would be that age now.*  
  
Scully forced her feet to move and the soft voice to the  
corner of her mind where she relegated thoughts too painful  
to explore.  
  
A small hill, covered in green, leafy trees stood out as a  
picturesque backdrop to the modern red brick building.  
This school bore a close resemblance to one that she had  
attended. Despite the regular moves imposed on her family  
by the Navy, she had enjoyed her education. She achieved  
academic success and made friends easily, some of whom she  
still managed to keep in contact with these days -- albeit  
only a quick phone call or email to wish them a happy  
birthday or to congratulate them on the arrival of a new  
baby.  
  
She wondered about Mulder. It was no secret that his life  
after Samantha's disappearance had been a turbulent time  
full of sadness. On those rare occasions when he opened up  
to her, his comments about his childhood were usually vague  
and filled with bitterness. She knew it hadn't been easy  
for him.  
  
Is that what the future held for Jacob? Was his fate to  
be the same as her partner's, isolated and under constant  
suspicion of murdering his own sister? Scully shuddered,  
the anger she had managed to suppress surging to the  
forefront once again. How could Mulder suspect a little boy  
of something so evil? He of all people should understand  
what Jacob was going through.  
  
"You coming, Scully?" Mulder propped open the heavy  
glass  
door with his hip, gesturing for Scully to precede him.  
  
Scully marched past with a perfunctory "thank you" as  
she  
slid into the cool foyer. Although her head told her it  
was unreasonable, she couldn't help feeling a little  
annoyed that Mulder persisted with the theory that Jacob  
was to blame for what happened to Rachel. She sensed Mulder  
sending her questioning looks as they presented badges to  
the secretary and introduced themselves to the principal,  
but ignored him.  
  
"I don't know that there's too much more to tell; we  
already spoke with Sheriff Sullivan a day or so back,"  
Principal Jackson said, fiddling with first a pencil holder  
and then a paperweight. Short and slight of build, he  
looked lost behind the huge pine desk. "And I have to say,  
I'm not real keen about disrupting Irene's class again. The  
students have been upset enough about this whole business."  
He  
leaned forward, the chair creaking its irritation as he  
repositioned himself.  
  
"I'm sorry, sir. I think you've got the wrong idea. We'd  
like to speak with *Jacob's* teacher..." Mulder flicked  
through his notebook, stabbing his finger at a page. "That  
would be... Kathy Fergus?" He raised his brow.  
  
"Jacob's teacher? Has something happened to the boy?"  
A  
flicker of panic crossed Jackson's features.  
  
Mulder shifted in his chair, feeling Scully's look of  
disapproval but choosing to ignore it.  
  
"No, no, this is just routine. We're talking to everyone  
who had contact with the family in the days prior to  
Rachel's disappearance. We're just piecing together the  
events leading up to that night."  
  
"Well, as I told you, I don't know that I want to  
disrupt the children. It doesn't matter to them that Rachel  
wasn't in their class. This is a small town, sir, and we're  
all feeling her loss." Stubbornness ironed out the man's  
earlier expression of alarm.  
  
Mulder opened his mouth to reply, hesitating when he felt  
the warmth of Scully's hand brush his.  
  
"Mr. Jackson, I understand that this is hard on everybody.  
When a child goes missing, it affects the whole community.  
We'll be as quick as we can, but it is important that we  
speak with Jacob's teacher. We want to do everything in our  
power to bring Rachel home." Scully pulled her mouth into  
a reassuring smile, widening it when the principal nodded  
his agreement.  
  
"You can wait in the staff lounge; it's just along the  
corridor a ways. We have a coffee machine in there; feel  
free to help yourselves. I'll go get Miss Fergus and bring  
her to you."  
  
"Thank you, sir."  
  
Mulder unfolded himself from the chair and stood, pausing.  
"Mr. Jackson, how would you describe Jacob Marcussen?"  
  
"Young Jacob? I wish I had a whole school of him. You  
know, he's never been sent to me for disciplinary  
reasons. He's an extremely bright boy." Jackson paused,  
swiping his hand along his jawline. He shook his head and  
snorted. "It's the strangest thing, him coming up with this  
fanciful tale of spaceships stealin' his sister. Jacob's  
not one to be taken with flights of fancy. He likes to stick  
to the facts, always quotin' statistics on this or that.  
Can't imagine what's gotten into him."  
  
Scully resisted the urge to remind the man that Jacob had  
experienced a severe trauma -- obviously this tragedy was  
clouding more than just Mulder's judgement.  
  
******************************  
  
"Miss Fergus, thank you for agreeing to speak with us. I'm  
sorry to pull you away from your class, but I'm sure you  
understand how important this is." Mulder kept his voice  
low and soothing.  
  
"I'm happy to talk to you, Agent Mulder, but I'm not sure  
exactly how I can be of help." Kathy Fergus, gray hair and  
wire-rimmed glasses enhancing her grandmotherly appearance,  
seated herself comfortably in the chair opposite the agents.  
  
"I'd like to ask you a few questions about Jacob. I'm  
sure you've heard about his rather unusual testimony  
regarding Rachel's disappearance. Our main concern now is  
to get Jacob to remember *exactly* what happened. It would  
help us a lot if you could give us some insight into the  
type of kid he is."  
  
Scully sat back in her chair, content to let Mulder set the  
tone of the interview. Whether due to his talent at  
profiling or his innate sense of empathy, her partner  
possessed a knack for setting people at ease -- a crucial  
component in gleaning information. As she watched him  
question the teacher, probing carefully for some clue that  
would point to the little girl's whereabouts, Scully felt  
her anger recede. If anyone could find Rachel, it was  
Mulder.  
  
"Oh, Jacob is a wonderful kid; don't let anybody tell you  
any different. He's one of the best students I've ever had  
the pleasure of teaching. Sometimes he frightens me..."  
  
"Frightens you? How?" Mulder interrupted, leaning  
forward in his chair, arms folded casually in front of him  
on the smooth formica tabletop, posture relaxed and non-  
threatening. A tiny gleam in his eye was the only hint  
Miss Fergus' statement piqued his interest.  
  
"Oh... maybe 'frighten' is the wrong word. The things the  
boy comes out with! I guess you'd say he amazes me. I worry  
sometimes that he'll get bored with what I'm teaching. It  
would be a terrible shame to see his intelligence wasted  
because he's not being stimulated enough in the classroom.  
But you know, he's never shown any sign of boredom. He's  
always been able to amuse himself, reading books or drawing  
pictures. Like I said, he's no trouble at all." She shook  
her head, a wry smile brightening her face.  
  
"Some of those books he reads... If it were me, I'd need  
a  
scientist to decipher what's written in them! Not Jacob,  
though, he understands everything he's reading, and what he  
doesn't, he finds out by researchin' on the Internet."  
  
Scully watched in mild amusement as her partner slumped  
back in his chair, the scent lost.  
  
"What type of books does he read?" Mulder asked casually.  
  
"It varies. Right now they're all about space; he's  
fascinated by it. I'm sure he could recall every detail and  
statistic on the shuttle launches, dating back to the very  
first one, if someone were to ask him. Told me once he  
wants to be an astronaut when he grows up. It wouldn't  
surprise me a bit if we see him commandin' his own mission  
to Mars one day." She gave a soft chuckle but her  
expression told Scully she believed her own words.  
  
"How does he get along with his peers?" Mulder played  
with his bottom lip, stroking his index finger from side to  
side as he formulated his questions and processed Miss  
Fergus' responses.  
  
"Well now, that's got me a tad confused. He doesn't mix  
so well with the other kids. I can't quite put my finger on  
it, but if I had to pin it down to any one particular  
reason I'd say it's because half the time what comes out of  
the boy's mouth is more like what you'd expect from an  
adult. The other kids tend to keep their distance, almost  
as if they're scared of him."  
  
Kathy shook her head as if bringing herself to her senses,  
looking first at Mulder, then at Scully before continuing  
with a half smile. "Of course that's ridiculous. He's about  
as gentle as they come. I've never seen him hurt anyone...  
well..." Her voice trailed off, and she squinted her eyes  
as if she couldn't quite believe her own memories.  
  
"What is it, Miss Fergus?" Mulder prompted as he shifted  
his body forward again.  
  
"Well, there was this one time -- I wasn't his teacher  
then so this is more hearsay than anything else..." She  
drifted off, chewing her bottom lip.  
  
"What happened, Kathy?" Mulder's body language caught  
Scully's attention. His voice adopted a silky cadence,  
gently prompting without pushing. He'd brought his arms  
back to rest on the table, leaning in slightly but staying  
out of the teacher's personal space. Scully knew that look  
\-- he was onto something.  
  
Kathy squared her shoulders and released her lip. "Every  
year, just before the end of school we put on a play. This  
isn't a big school so we try and involve most of the  
children. There's always plenty to do -- making costumes,  
collecting props, singing in the chorus. It's a pretty big  
deal. We perform at the local community hall so that we can  
fit everyone in; practically the whole town turns out to  
see it. There's some fine little actors in the school so we  
hold auditions for the main characters. Last year, Jacob  
and another boy tried out for the lead role. They were  
both very good. Luke..."  
  
Mulder stole a quick glance in Scully's direction. She  
met his gaze for a few brief seconds, her face studiously  
neutral.  
  
"Luke? Would that be Luke Miller?"  
  
"Yes, yes, it would. Luke doesn't do so well in school,  
struggles with his work, not so good at sports -- though he  
tries real hard at both. Jacob, on the other hand, excels  
at just about everything he attempts. We thought it would  
be good for Luke if he got the lead role, so that's what  
decided us in the end. Jacob got the role of understudy."  
  
"How did Jacob react to that?"  
  
Scully shifted quietly in her chair, the soft fabric of  
her skirt rustling gently against the vinyl covering. She  
anticipated where Mulder was going with this, her unease  
with the line of questioning growing with each passing  
minute.  
  
"He was disappointed, of course, but he seemed fine with  
it. Or so we thought. Two or three days before the play,  
Luke fell off his bike -- suffered a bad concussion and  
broke his leg. He spent the next week in the hospital.  
Rumors started circulatin' that Jacob was somehow  
responsible. Of course, there was no truth to those  
accusations, nothing to indicate that Luke's mishap was  
anything more than an unfortunate accident. You know how  
people can be sometimes, and kids are no different than  
adults when it comes to success. It was easy for them to  
blame Jacob -- a little jealousy can go a long way in  
fueling cruel rumors. He's a good boy, Agent Mulder, Agent  
Scully, and I hope I won't regret tellin' you that story."  
A look of guarded wariness passed across her face.  
  
"We only want to help Jacob, Miss Fergus; he's going through  
a very difficult time. Our priority is to find his  
sister, and at this point we haven't a lot to go on. Jacob  
may hold the key to what really happened that night."  
Mulder gathered the notes he'd been collecting, folded them  
into a neat rectangle, and slipped the small bundle inside  
his coat pocket.  
  
Scully caught the quick flick of his eyes in her  
direction, signaling the interview was over.  
  
"We've taken up enough of your time. Thank you for  
answering our questions so candidly; you've been very  
helpful." Pulling a business card from her pocket, she  
handed it to the teacher. "Please, if you think of anything  
else, you can reach Agent Mulder or myself at those  
numbers."  
  
"Thank you. I'd better be getting back to my class. I wish  
you luck in finding Rachel. It's a hard thing to see a  
tragedy like this happen to decent folk like the  
Marcussens." Kathy Fergus offered a sad smile before  
heading back to her classroom.  
  
**************************************  
  
"Mulder! Slow down." There were times in her life when  
Scully rued the day fate had decided that her height would  
never exceed five foot, one. Now was definitely one of  
those times. She fought to match her partner's long stride  
while he strode single-mindedly toward their rented Taurus.  
  
"I want to get back to the Marcussens, Scully." His  
pace  
increased.  
  
"Mulder, stop!"  
  
Something in the tone of her voice managed to penetrate  
Mulder's hyperactive thought processes. He stopped walking  
and turned around to face Scully, annoyance and confusion  
battling for supremacy.  
  
"We've just come from the Marcussens, Mulder. Why do you  
want to go back there?"  
  
"I'm more convinced than ever that Jacob is responsible  
for Rachel's disappearance. You heard his teacher! The  
other kids are scared of him; he had no compunction about  
making sure Luke Miller didn't star in the school play...  
Scully, he...he exhibits all the classic signs of..."  
  
"Don't even go there, Mulder! Jacob Marcussen is just as  
much a victim in this whole tragedy as Rachel. His teacher  
qualified everything she said. At no time did she give me  
the impression that Jacob was this... this *evil* child  
that you are making him out to be. I really don't  
understand what has gotten into you, Mulder. This is an 11-  
year-old boy." She felt like screaming. What was wrong  
with him?  
  
Mulder dragged his hand through his hair, massaging his  
forehead in a vain attempt to push back the headache that  
had been steadily building since his illicit search and  
seizure in Jacob's room. He drew a long, weary breath  
before answering.  
  
"Scully, I need you to trust me on this. I know the  
evidence so far is circumstantial, but I can *feel* it.  
Something is not right. Something about Jacob. I want to  
speak with the Marcussens about allowing an independent  
psychologist to assess him. If the doctor says there is  
nothing wrong, then what have we lost? There's a little  
girl missing, Scully. Do you *really* believe she was  
abducted by aliens?"  
  
A silent stand-off, hazel eyes pleading with stubborn blue.  
  
*Did* she believe Rachel was taken by aliens? If she'd  
been asked that question two years ago she might have been  
able to answer a decisive "no". Now? She wasn't so sure.  
A year ago she'd witnessed something that had threatened to  
destroy her belief in God, to crumble the very foundation of  
her faith. Now she could no longer deny the possibility of  
extraterrestrial life.  
  
But beyond that, she refused to see evil in this child.  
To acknowledge that possibility threatened her basic belief  
in the good of humanity more than the Consortium or a  
secret government conspiracy. Rachel might be lost,  
kidnapped -- Scully's mind could comfortably accept such  
conclusions. But murdered by her own brother? That was a  
path she couldn't tread. Not even with Mulder at her side.  
  
"I don't know what I believe, Mulder. But I do know that  
I don't see what you see in that child. What are you going  
to say to the Marcussens, 'Excuse me, Beth, Sam, but I  
believe your son murdered your daughter. Mind if I have him  
evaluated by a psychologist?' Do you seriously think  
they'll agree to that?" Her fists curled into tight balls  
as her voice rose.  
  
"Scully, I would hope you'd credit me with a little more  
sensitivity than that." Mulder's voice broke from his lips  
in a soft whisper. The sadness and regret she heard sent  
her heart plummeting until it landed like an icy lump in  
the pit of her stomach.  
  
Scully drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Mulder, that  
was uncalled for." She gathered up his hand in both of  
hers, caressing her thumb in smooth circles along the back  
of his knuckles.  
  
"I don't want this family to suffer any more than you do,  
Scully. I just want to find Rachel. If a psychological  
evaluation of Jacob will help achieve that, then that's  
what I've got to do. I'm going to broach this with the  
Marcussens under the guise of Jacob needing help to cope  
with what's happened. As you say, Scully, he is a little  
boy. Maybe speaking with someone will be enough to help him  
remember or confess what really did happen."  
  
Scully's eyebrows knitted together as she struggled to  
come up with a compromise. "Okay, Mulder, but I'm willing  
to support you only so far. The Marcussens may not agree  
with your suggestion, regardless of how you dress it up."  
  
"I know that, but for Rachel's sake I've got to try."  
  
She sighed, feeling unaccountably weary. "Could we at  
least get some lunch first? That bagel was a long time ago."  
  
Mulder shuffled his feet fretfully, then offered a weak  
smile. Truce.  
  
"You've got it, partner. But it's my turn to choose."  
  
He ignored her soft groan.  
  
  
1:22 p.m.  
Marcussen Residence  
  
  
"You know, I don't see my own mama nearly as often as I see  
the two of you these days." A wry twist of the lips  
tempered the note of exasperation in Beth Marcussen's voice  
as she pushed open the screen door.  
  
Mulder hesitated. "If this is a bad time we could come  
back..."  
  
"Don't be silly!" Beth huffed, motioning them forward.  
"Go  
on in and make yourself at home -- you know the way by now."  
  
Mulder cast a quick look around him before taking a seat  
on the couch. "Where's Jacob?"  
  
Beth shrugged, brushing back a wisp of blonde hair that  
escaped her ponytail. "Out back somewhere, I expect,  
playin'. Did you need to talk to him?"  
  
"No. In fact, it would be for the best if he wasn't a part  
of this conversation." Mulder observed her brow furrow and  
rushed on to explain. "Beth, how would you say Jacob has  
been dealing with Rachel's disappearance?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Has his behavior changed? Any nightmares, bouts of  
crying, angry outbursts?"  
  
Beth's frown deepened. "Well, he's been quieter than usual,  
I suppose. When he does talk, he doesn't want to discuss  
Rachel, or even hear us speak her name. At times it feels  
as if he'd like to forget he ever had a sister, though I  
tell myself it's just his way of grievin'. I wouldn't say  
he's been angry, though he did put up quite a sulk at  
lunchtime when I told him I don't want to hear any more  
about a puppy."  
  
Mulder nodded, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.  
"He's been sleeping all right?"  
  
"Like a baby." She glanced away, blinking rapidly. "I  
should know, since I haven't been sleepin' too well  
myself." Her eyes darted back to scrutinize first Scully's  
face, and then Mulder's. "Why? Is something wrong?"  
  
"Jacob's been through an extremely traumatic experience,  
Beth," Scully said gently. "We're just concerned that  
he  
may need help processing it."  
  
"Help? We've been doing the very best we can, Agent Scully,  
but if the boy doesn't want to talk..."  
  
"We mean professional help, Beth." Mulder took a deep  
breath. "I think it would be a good thing for Jacob to talk  
to someone about Rachel's disappearance. The local Bureau  
has a doctor on staff who specializes in helping kids cope  
with trauma."  
  
Beth's mouth sagged open, her already large sapphire eyes  
becoming impossibly wider as she pressed fingers to her  
trembling lips. "A psychiatrist? What exactly are you  
trying to say, Agent Mulder? Are you telling me you think  
Jacob is crazy, that all this talk of aliens is..."  
  
"NO! That's not what we're saying at all." Scully's  
voice,  
pitched low and smooth as honey, contrasted sharply with  
the dagger gaze she tossed Mulder. "We just feel that Jacob  
might benefit from the opportunity to talk with someone who  
can help him understand the conflicting feelings and  
emotions evoked by Rachel's disappearance."  
  
"Jacob's a good boy, a smart boy. Fact is he's head and  
shoulders above the rest of the kids around here." Beth's  
voice was high, pleading, and her hands fluttered over the  
hem of her denim shirt, plucking at loose threads. "We've  
had enough sufferin' in this family, can't you see that?  
Jacob's gonna be just fine, there's no cause to think  
history would repeat itself. None at all."  
  
Mulder squinted and leaned forward, his mind trying to  
make sense of her rambling as he attempted to reassure her.  
"Beth, believe me, we..."  
  
"Where are my manners? I haven't even offered y'all some  
coffee," Beth interrupted, springing to her feet.  
  
"That's not necessary, really; we just had lunch and..."  
  
"Please, Agent Mulder!"  
  
The edge of panic in his name silenced Mulder, and he bit  
back further protest. Beth pulled in a long, quivering  
breath and marshaled a weak smile.  
  
"I need to get us all some coffee. Just sit tight and give  
me a minute."  
  
Scully waited until the sound of cupboard doors and  
running water drifted from the kitchen before rounding on  
him.  
  
"This is wrong, Mulder. I know I agreed to back you up,  
but you're pushing too hard. The poor woman is grief-  
stricken, nearly out of her mind with worry over her  
daughter, and you're adding to that burden."  
  
"Scully, no one empathizes with what she's going through  
more than I. But I meant it when I told Sheriff Sullivan I  
wouldn't allow any barriers to prevent me from learning the  
truth about what happened to Rachel. That includes her  
parents' personal feelings --and my own."  
  
Mulder paused and cocked his head. From the kitchen,  
Jacob's voice now ran in counterpoint to his mother's,  
barely audible above the chink of fine china. When he  
resumed speaking, he barely broke a whisper.  
  
"Rachel Marcussen was not abducted by aliens, Scully. And  
I believe Jacob knows the truth of what really happened."  
  
"And if you're wrong?" Scully hissed. "How many  
years did  
you spend blaming yourself for your sister's disappearance,  
Mulder, thanks to misplaced guilt and blame? Is that what  
you want for Jacob should your unsubstantiated suspicions  
prove false? You've as much as admitted this case hits too  
close to home. Can you be sure this 'instinct' of yours  
isn't simply a means of distancing yourself?"  
  
The anger passed across his face like a swiftly moving  
thundercloud, replaced almost immediately by an expression  
she couldn't name. "I'm not the only one who brings baggage  
to this case, Scully."  
  
Her eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
Mulder's eyes cut to the television set, and he stared at  
the blank screen. "I saw you at the school today. I know  
being around children reminds you of what They've taken  
from you. I can read the pain in your eyes."  
  
Scully's body turned rigid, even the milky skin on her  
face stretched too tightly across her cheekbones. "My  
inability to have children has no bearing on this case,  
Mulder. I can retain my objectivity. I can do my job."  
  
Anger, seasoned with resentment, pounded a drumbeat behind  
his eyes but he adopted a nearly blank expression. "But I  
can't, is that it? The cool and enigmatic Dr. Scully would  
never allow emotion to dictate her actions, but Spooky, the  
FBI's resident basket case falls all to pieces anytime a  
case hits a little too close to home?"  
  
"Mulder, that's not what I meant. I..."  
  
"Here we are." Beth glided back into the room with the  
familiar tray holding the coffee pot, cream, and sugar.  
She placed it on the table and motioned to Jacob,  
who was hovering in the doorway. "I thought maybe you  
should explain to Jacob about this doctor, Agent Mulder,  
since it concerns him."  
  
Mulder's smile was forced, and never reached his eyes.  
"I'd be happy to," he replied, his voice telling Scully  
he  
was anything but. "Have a seat, Jacob."  
  
Mulder sweetened his coffee as Jacob wandered over to  
sit at his mother's feet. The boy's dark, intent gaze  
followed his every move, making him feel inexplicably  
measured and found wanting. Scully's encouraging smile  
and soft greeting only exacerbated the sensation.  
  
"How's that model you were working on, Jacob? Did you  
finish it yet?"  
  
Jacob turned to her, the appraising look gone and a shy  
grin in its place. "Not just yet. Almost, though. Would you  
like to see it?"  
  
"I'd like that very much, but not right now. Maybe later,  
after we talk, okay?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
A dull ache radiated through Mulder's jaw, and he abruptly  
realized he was clamping his teeth tightly together. Jacob  
favored Scully with one more winning smile before turning  
his attention back to Mulder with a lingering curve to his  
lips.  
  
"What did you want to talk to me about, Agent Mulder?"  
  
Mulder paused to take a long draught of his coffee,  
struggling against irritation and the feeling he was deftly  
being had by an 11-year-old boy.  
  
"Jacob, we'd like you to talk to someone -- a special  
doctor who helps kids like you who have been through a  
rough time."  
  
Jacob's face was wide open, guileless. "I already saw Dr.  
Blake and he said I'm fine."  
  
Mulder caught himself gritting his teeth, forced them  
apart. "I'm sure Dr. Blake is a good doctor. But we're  
talking about a different kind of doctor who you can talk  
to about what you're feeling. I'm sure you must be pretty  
sad about Rachel, must be missing her quite a bit."  
  
Jacob ducked his head and his reply was very quiet. "I  
don't want to talk about that now, Agent Mulder. But when I  
do, I'd rather talk to mama or daddy about it, and not some  
stranger." He tilted his head up toward Beth. "Can I  
go  
now, Mama? Please?"  
  
Beth stroked her fingers through his hair and nodded. When  
he was safely out of earshot she squared her shoulders, her  
face composed and resolute.  
  
"I'll speak to Sam about what you said, Agent Mulder,  
Agent Scully. But if Jacob doesn't see the need for talkin'  
to this doctor, I'm not keen on the idea."  
  
Before Mulder could open his mouth to argue, Scully stood.  
"We understand, Beth. You know where to reach us if you  
change your mind."  
  
Out-manipulated and out-maneuvered, Mulder had little  
choice but to follow his partner to the door. He lingered  
on the threshold, loath to admit defeat.  
  
"Beth, I really think..."  
  
"I'll be sure to let you know, Agent Mulder." A firm  
voice  
and an even firmer door ended the discussion.  
  
  
3:32 p.m.  
New River Lodge  
  
  
The drone of daytime TV seeped through the connecting door  
as Scully's fingers tapped out an update to her field  
report. Mulder had sulked the entire drive back from the  
Marcussens', rebuffing all attempts at conversation with  
single syllable grunts. He'd stomped into his room to watch  
Jerry Springer or whatever the heck was playing during the  
middle of the afternoon in a one-horse town. The fact that  
he'd left the connecting door ajar was small consolation.  
  
She shut her laptop with a sigh, chin propped on a fist,  
and wished that her ears didn't automatically seek and  
evaluate every subtle creak and scuffle from her partner's  
room. The initial screech indicating that Mulder had flung  
himself onto the queensize bed had given way to a nearly  
continuous whisper of stocking feet. She pictured him  
stalking about the tiny room, muttering balefully under his  
breath and running his fingers through his hair. Well,  
maybe he'd get it out of his system and they could talk  
honestly, without poking sticks at each other's tender  
spots.  
  
Scully shook her head, chuckling softly as she recalled  
all the times she'd resisted a romantic relationship with  
Mulder, worried that such a change would adversely affect  
the dynamics of their working partnership. She'd feared  
such intimacy would soften the edge, mellow his cocky  
assurance of all things paranormal, and loosen her  
steadfast grip on science.  
  
Fat chance.  
  
A different sound captured her attention, pulling Scully  
forcefully from her reverie. Several quick strides, a tug,  
and she was in Mulder's room, never bothering to knock.  
Oprah looked earnestly into the camera and warned against  
the dangers of teenage alcohol poisoning, but Mulder was  
nowhere in sight.  
  
"Mulder?"  
  
The sounds again, unmistakable now, and her head snapped  
around to the bathroom. Scully skirted the bed and pushed  
the wooden door all the way open.  
  
Mulder sat slumped with legs splayed on the chipped tile,  
forehead pressed to the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl  
and hands clutching the rim in a white-knuckled grip. The  
sour odor of vomit and his ashen face stole the breath from  
her lungs.  
  
"Mulder, what's going on?"  
  
She tugged a thin, scratchy wash cloth from a towel bar,  
doused it in cold water, and knelt to wipe his face. Mulder  
shivered helplessly, his eyes glassy and unfocused.  
  
"Don't know...sick...stomach cramps..."  
  
"You going to be sick again?" Scully touched the back  
of  
her hand to his forehead, frowning at the cool, clammy skin.  
  
One corner of Mulder's mouth turned up, though the tremors  
didn't abate. "Nothing left."  
  
"Okay, come on. Let's get you into bed."  
  
"Know how long... waited to hear that?" Mulder tried  
to  
leer but a particularly painful abdominal cramp twisted it  
out of shape and spoiled the effect.  
  
Scully draped one of his arms around her neck and hauled  
him to his feet, lending support as he shuffled to the bed  
like an old man. He stood with both arms wrapped tightly  
around his belly, shivering violently, while she yanked the  
bedspread and blanket back with a quick flip of the wrist.  
Scully eased him onto the sheets and piled the covers on  
him, stroking damp hair back from his brow. "Told you that  
chili dog looked toxic, Mulder. Looks like food poisoning."  
  
"Arms feel like... asleep," he mumbled, teeth chattering.  
  
Scully's hand stalled. "Asleep? You're experiencing  
numbness?"  
  
Mulder nodded, eyes sliding shut. "Tingly. Pins 'n needles."  
  
She frowned, tendrils of apprehension creeping up and down  
her spine. "That doesn't sound like botulism. Is it just  
your arms?" When Mulder didn't respond, she dropped onto  
the mattress beside him and gave his shoulder a brisk  
shake. "Mulder! Mulder, answer me!"  
  
Mulder batted wildly with one hand, never opening his eyes.  
"Stop it... making th' waterbed shake," he slurred.  
  
"Mulder, wake up!" Alarmed now, Scully seized his earlobe  
between thumb and forefinger, delivering a vicious pinch.  
  
A soft moan was her only response.  
  
Something was desperately wrong, and it wasn't a bad chili  
dog.  
  
Heart hammering in her chest, Scully fumbled the phone from  
the bedside table, frantically pressing 911, her voice  
trembling as badly as her fingers.  
  
"This is Special Agent Dana Scully. I have an emergency,  
I have an agent down..."  



	2. Chapter 2

New River Lodge  
Gauley Bridge, West Virginia  
3:51 p.m.  
  
  
The room presses in on her, too small and cluttered with  
cheap furniture. Oprah drones on about alcohol levels and  
dead teenagers, scattered applause greeting a particularly  
witty remark. The air conditioner thumps and groans  
heroically, though each breath she pulls into her lungs  
feels heavy with moisture and smells faintly of his  
shampoo. Help is on the way, she tells herself - a mantra.  
She barks her shins on a spindly chair and navigates around  
a small table, the laminated top chipped and peeling, to  
fling open the door. Shaking fingers need three tries to  
unfasten the chain lock.  
  
Whimpering, low and strangled, pulls her back to the bed,  
heart pounding in eyes and ears as well as chest. The  
polyester comforter, emblazoned with gaudy yellow roses,  
feels scratchy against her thighs as she drops down, one  
hand reaching without conscious thought for clammy skin.  
  
"Mulder. Mulder!"  
  
"H...hurts, hurts, m...make...stop."  
  
Words garbled, unrecognizable perhaps, to anyone but her.  
Restless movements, leaning into her touch one minute,  
jerking away the next. Arms flailing suddenly, eyes wide  
open but unseeing.  
  
"No! Nonononono. G...get...off. S...snakes...snakes.  
Sculleee!"  
  
"Shhhh. Easy, you're all right. There are no snakes; do  
you hear me, Mulder? There are *no* snakes."  
  
Hair sifting through her trembling fingers, thick, soft,  
damp. Dodge and capture an arm, eyes squinting against the  
spill of light through an open doorway, ears attune to the  
wail of sirens and the squeal of tires on asphalt.  
  
"Scu..."  
  
Long limbs turn rigid beneath her palms, then jerk and  
spasm, out of control. Seizure.  
  
"Ohgodohgodohgod." A chant. A prayer.  
  
Hurried footsteps, clatter of wheels, barked commands.  
Lips automatically form words in a voice high and tight  
with swallowed panic.  
  
"Thirty-nine-year-old male, vomiting, abdominal cramps.  
He's been seizing for just under a minute. Prior to the  
seizure he exhibited extreme lassitude and impaired mental  
status."  
  
Scientific words. Objective words. Don't think about how  
pale and still he looks, now limp on the thin mattress.  
Don't flinch as the needle pierces the sensitive skin on  
the back of one long-fingered hand. Don't contemplate  
phrases like "BP's skyrocketing, 180 over 100," and  
"He's  
completely unresponsive," and DON'T look at tense, grim  
faces.  
  
"We're taking him to Montgomery General Hospital, ETA ten  
minutes."  
  
Fingers lock onto the uniformed arm in a bruising grip.  
  
"I'm coming with you."  
  
  
******************************************  
  
ACT IV  
  
Montgomery General Hospital  
6:02 p.m.  
  
  
"Dr. Scully?"  
  
"How is he?"  
  
The words, spoken at the same moment, clashed and  
scrambled in midair. Suzanne Kimball, the ER doctor who had  
taken over Mulder's treatment and relegated Scully to the  
waiting room with an iron hand, smiled.  
  
"We got him in time - just. It was pretty touch and go  
there for a while. Once we got his bloodwork and realized  
we were dealin' with an overdose, we administered activated  
charcoal and performed a gastric lavage. BP is still high  
but greatly improved. It was almost 200 over 120 by the  
time he got here; we're just plain lucky he didn't stroke  
out. We'll keep him on nitroglycerin as a vasodilator 'til  
his pressure gets back to normal, and I want him on  
Dilantin for a bit to avoid any lingering seizures. Other  
than that..."  
  
"You said overdose?" Scully interrupted, brow furrowed.  
"Overdose of what?"  
  
"Ergotamine. Near as I can tell from the serum levels, he  
must've ingested five or six tabs, and they were the  
sublingual kind."  
  
Scully's lips parted, and it took her a moment to find her  
voice. "Ergotamine? The headache drug?"  
  
Kimball lifted an eyebrow. "I take it you didn't know your  
partner suffers from migraines?"  
  
Scully bit her lip, her mind working furiously. "No. No,  
I  
didn't."  
  
"The puzzlin' thing is why he took as many as he did.  
Therapeutically, you don't want to exceed more than three  
in a twenty-four hour period. Plus, he apparently  
swallowed the pills, instead of lettin' them dissolve under  
his tongue. Tell you the truth, Dr. Scully - if he weren't  
who he is, I'd be wonderin' if he OD'd on purpose."  
  
Scully forced herself to smile. "I can assure you that  
Agent Mulder had no intention of overdosing, Dr. Kimball.  
Can I see him?"  
  
Kimball cast a brief look over her shoulder. "They were  
cleanin' him up from the lavage when I came out here. He's  
relatively stable, so I see no need for packin' him off to  
the ICU. We'll put him in a regular room and keep close  
tabs on his vitals overnight." Her green eyes twinkled.  
"But somethin' tells me you'd rather not wait 'til he's  
settled in."  
  
Scully resisted the urge to cross her arms, and attempted  
to keep her answering smile relaxed. "I am a doctor. Seeing  
my partner a little rough around the edges isn't going to  
throw me." She huffed softly. "Unfortunately, it's a  
sight  
with which I'm all too familiar."  
  
Kimball tipped her head toward the trauma room doors. "Go  
on. You can escort him upstairs."  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Kimball. For everything."  
  
Scully felt the doctor's eyes following her as she walked  
down the wide hallway. She concentrated on keeping her  
steps slow and measured, her arms swinging loosely at her  
sides. She'd spied the assessing gleam in Dr. Kimball's  
gaze and knew she and Mulder would likely be fodder for  
many future bull sessions in the doctor's lounge. Her  
professional mask always slipped when Mulder's life was  
endangered - a weakness even before they'd begun to deepen  
their relationship. No sense adding any more credence to  
the  
staff's inevitable conjecture.  
  
An older nurse with iron gray hair and a pleasant,  
motherly face was tying a fresh gown around Mulder's neck.  
She smiled as she tucked a blanket around his legs.  
  
"He's doin' much better. Blood pressure keeps droppin' and  
he hasn't had a seizure for over 30 minutes."  
  
Scully tore her gaze from Mulder's pale face. "Has he  
regained consciousness?"  
  
The nurse, whose nametag read 'Doris,' gathered up a  
soiled sheet containing assorted medical detritus. "Not  
exactly. Been driftin' in and out the last five minutes or  
so, but he's not really lucid." She shrugged. "Keeps  
mumblin' somethin' about a skull. Might have a headache  
from the high blood pressure."  
  
Scully pursed her lips together to hide a grin. "Scully,"  
she said, letting her eyes find him and moving to the side  
of the gurney. "He's saying my name."  
  
Doris squinted at her a moment, then shook her head. "You  
Yankees sure pick interestin' names for your kids. I'm  
gonna check to see if we can take him up to his room."  
  
Scully barely heard her leave, absorbed by the feel of  
Mulder's limp fingers in her own. She scrutinized each of  
the monitors surrounding him, reassured by the various  
beeps and clicks. Something deep inside of her that had  
been tightly coiled began slowly to unwind, and she leaned  
one hip onto the bed to relieve abruptly weak knees.  
  
"You have got to stop doing this to me, Mulder. My heart  
can't take it."  
  
She was reflecting on the double meaning of her own words  
when her partner sucked in a deep breath and his fingers  
twitched against her palm.  
  
"Mulder? You awake?"  
  
He sighed and swallowed thickly, turning his face toward  
her like a flower seeking the sun. Dark eyelashes fluttered  
and finally slid open.  
  
"Scull..." His eyes slipped shut, but he wrestled them  
open  
again, struggling to focus on her face.  
  
"Welcome back. Thought for a while there I'd lost you."  
  
She'd planned a light, teasing tone, not the rough,  
faltering one that caught in her throat.  
  
Mulder licked dry lips and grimaced. "What died...in my  
mouth?"  
  
Scully laughed through the tears that flooded her eyes.  
"Long story, partner. Tell you all about it after you get  
some sleep."  
  
Mulder frowned, but his eyes were already down to slits.  
"Feel strange...fuzzy. Throat hurts."  
  
She stroked her fingers across his forehead, then through  
his hair, knowing from past experience that the action  
would put him to sleep.  
  
"Shhh. Just rest now. You'll feel better when you wake up."  
  
Another, longer sigh and his lips curved ever so slightly.  
"Scully. Don't...leave...me."  
  
Scully leaned over and pressed her cool lips to his warm  
dry ones without bothering to check for observers. "Never,  
Mulder. Never."  
  
  
Montgomery General Hospital  
7:37 a.m.  
  
  
Squeaky wheels clattering down the hallway, voices raised  
in good-natured jibing, the squelch of rubber soles on  
polished linoleum, and the steady beep, beep from the heart  
monitor -- routine hospital bustle blending into white  
noise, urging Scully's exhausted body to remain cocooned in  
sleep. Sounds now so familiar, they no longer registered in  
her mind.  
  
A low groan brought her to her senses as quickly as if  
someone had doused her in ice water. Her head shot up from  
its resting place buried in the soft cushion of the chair.  
She covered the distance to Mulder's bed in three quick  
steps, casting an appraising glance at the assorted medical  
equipment surrounding her partner. Checking, rechecking,  
making sure.  
  
The soft rustle of legs moving against sheets, testing the  
boundaries of the bed. A tremor and a twitch of long  
fingers partly obscured by Scully's small hand as her thumb  
swept back and forth across his palm. More mumbling,  
eyelids fluttering. A long breath sucked in through pale  
lips and Mulder's eyes snapped open, only to drift to half-  
mast.  
  
"Hey, sleepyhead. It's about time you woke up."  
  
"Mmmm."  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"Like someone's been...belly dancing...on my belly."  
A small  
cough broke free and he winced, eyes slamming shut.  
  
"I'm not surprised, Mulder. You gave me quite a scare  
yesterday." Scully worked to keep her voice calm, matter  
of  
fact.  
  
"What...happened to me?" Mulder managed no more than  
a  
gravelly whisper.  
  
Scully worried her lip, eyebrows drawn together as she  
smoothed the blue blanket draped across his chest. "You...  
you succumbed to an overdose of Ergomar."  
  
"What?" Mulder turned his head, struggling to focus  
on her  
face. "What the hell...is that?"  
  
"Ergomar - the brand name for the drug Ergatomine - is a  
drug commonly prescribed for migraine headaches. It's  
placed under the tongue and allowed to dissolve, like a  
nitroglycerin tab. When your blood work-up came back last  
night, it showed serum levels of five or six times the  
recommended dosage."  
  
"Migraines? I don't..." Mulder lifted his head, then  
moaned.  
He pressed the hand not hooked to an I.V. to his brow,  
shading his eyes and massaging his temples with thumb and  
forefinger. "I think someone better tell the FDA those  
pills don't work. My head is killing me."  
  
Scully's features relaxed into a brief smile before  
tightening. "Mulder, this is hardly a joking matter. We..."  
The words caught, lodged somewhere between her mouth and  
her heart. "*I* nearly lost you."  
  
Mulder seemed to really *look* at her for the first time,  
his forehead creasing. Scully's eyes cut away to stare out  
the window, one hand self-consciously straightening her  
rumpled blouse and tousled hair. She knew what he was  
seeing - dark circles under her eyes and lines of fatigue  
around her mouth, skin too pale and psyche exposed and  
fragile. She hated feeling this way, almost as much as she  
hated him witnessing it.  
  
Woozy as he was, Mulder apparently sensed her discomfort.  
He tugged her hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to her  
knuckles. "Sorry," he murmured, intense green eyes  
capturing her own. He sighed. "How, Scully? I'm not on any  
medication. I stopped taking...ibuprofen for my  
ribs...nearly a  
week ago."  
  
"I don't know, Mulder. It doesn't make any sense. What do  
you remember after we left the Marcussens'?"  
  
He licked dry lips, squinting a bit as he searched his  
memory. "I...back at the hotel, I remember being frustrated,  
angry." He threw his partner an apologetic look. "Then,  
I  
started feeling...strange. I don't know, tired, I  
guess...and  
nauseous. I remember stumbling into the bathroom...throwing  
up my toenails. After that...it's pretty much a blur."  
  
"And you didn't take ANY medication? Did you have anything  
to eat or drink?" Scully recognized that she'd begun to  
sound like she was interrogating him, tried to ease off.  
She felt as if she was grasping at straws, and she didn't  
like it.  
  
"Nothing, Scully. I had lunch with you, then coffee at the  
Marcussens'..." His voice trailed off and his eyes turned  
vague and out of focus.  
  
"Mulder?" Scully's spoke his name sharply, concerned  
he  
might be losing consciousness.  
  
"The coffee, Scully. It must have been in the coffee."  
  
Scully's jaw dropped and for a long moment she couldn't  
find her voice. "The *coffee*? Mulder, I drank the coffee  
too, and I'm fine." She spread her arms out as if to say  
"look at me."  
  
"Scully, how fast would that drug have hit?"  
  
She inhaled deeply, then blew a long breath out her nose,  
obviously struggling against irritation. "Considering the  
levels in your bloodstream I'd say peak of action would  
occur about an hour and a half after ingestion."  
  
Mulder scrubbed his eyes with shaky fingers. "Lunch would  
be...too long. I'd have been sick...when we talked to Beth.  
It's the coffee, Scully. Has to be."  
  
Scully was frowning, already shaking her head in denial,  
when she abruptly froze.  
  
"Scully? What is it?"  
  
She stared at him as if unable to believe her own words.  
"Sugar. You were the only one of us to use sugar in your  
coffee. Beth Marcussen knew that. And Mulder, caffeine  
enhances the absorption of ergatomine."  
  
Mulder clenched his teeth. "Not Beth. Jacob."  
  
Scully went very still. "*Jacob*? Do you realize what  
you're saying, Mulder? You're suggesting that an eleven-  
year-old child tried to poison you."  
  
"It's not the first time we've seen such a thing -  
remember the Eves? He *knows*, Scully. He...he knows I think  
he's lying, and that I suspect he's responsible for  
Rachel's disappearance. It all makes sense."  
  
"Makes sense?" Scully's voice was high, incredulous.  
"How  
can it make sense? The Eves were genetically manipulated,  
prone to insanity. Jacob is a normal little boy!"  
  
She couldn't believe it. *Wouldn't* believe it. But images  
scrolled relentlessly through her mind.  
  
*Jacob sitting at the table in his room, big, brown eyes  
shiny with tears -- then coolly asking his mother for a  
puppy.*  
  
*Kathy Fergus proudly explaining how Jacob would conduct  
his own research on the Internet.*  
  
*Jacob at that same table, meticulously crushing five or  
six little pills, then mixing them into the sugar bowl when  
his mother turned her back.*  
  
*Mulder doubled up in agony; disoriented one moment,  
comatose the next.*  
  
*Oh God, it can't be. He's just a child.*  
  
"He's a little boy...with big problems, Scully."  
  
She pressed the back of one hand to her lips. "There must  
be another explanation."  
  
"Just...just hear me out. I didn't tell you this  
before...but...when I found those magazines in Jacob's  
room, I  
was sure I heard someone in the hallway. And I think he was  
eavesdropping when we asked Beth about the time when Rachel  
was lost in the woods. If he realized I was onto him...if he  
felt threatened, desperate..."  
  
Scully stared bleakly at him. "You're certain of this,  
aren't you?"  
  
"Scully, nothing about his story checks out. No heat  
damage to the treeline. No power outage. No other reports  
of strange lights in the sky. And have you asked yourself  
why a purportedly timid little girl, afraid of her own  
shadow, would chase a spaceship into the woods at night?"  
Mulder's words began to slur, his eyes glassy. "I'm telling  
you, Scully, it's him. It's Jacob."  
  
He fidgeted, pushing at the blanket. Scully took in the  
obvious signs of exhaustion that he valiantly tried to  
suppress.  
  
"Shhh." She stilled his restless fingers with one hand  
and  
placed the other on his brow. "You need to rest, Mulder.  
Your body took a beating last night."  
  
"No...no, Scully. We have to find Rachel. We don't know  
she's dead, she could be trapped somewhere...injured. Every  
day that passes...makes it less likely she'll be found  
alive.  
I can't just lay here...do nothing." His eyes were a  
treacherous contradiction to his words, persistently  
sliding shut.  
  
Scully traced her fingers across the furrowed skin of his  
forehead, brushing them down along the shadowed outline of  
his jaw. "Yes, you will rest. Your body needs time to  
recover."  
  
In spite of himself, Mulder slumped bonelessly into the  
pillows, her words enveloping him like a feather quilt.  
Though his eyes slid shut, he doggedly continued to fight  
sleep. "Luke...want to talk to Luke. He...he knows  
something.  
Should have seen...look on his face...I mentioned Jacob.  
Talk  
to him, Scully. He...he knows something."  
  
"It's all right, Mulder." She continued to caress his  
cheek.  
  
"Something...something else. Beth...she said...can't  
think...I  
know she said... Why can't I think straight?"  
  
"It's the Dilantin, Mulder. Don't fight it, you need to  
sleep. I'll take care of everything, okay? I'm going to go  
back to the motel for a shower, and then I'll go talk to  
Luke."  
  
Scully leaned over, her kisses following the path of her  
fingers before lingering on his lips. "I'll be back soon."  
  
"Mmm...'kay. Talk...Luke."  
  
Scully adjusted the blanket and checked the monitors,  
granting herself one last look at his face, smoothed by  
slumber. A yawn struggled to break free but she fought  
back, rolling tight shoulders and kneading the base of her  
neck.  
  
"Wonder what you'd say if you knew how much I'd like to  
crawl into that bed with you, Mulder?" she muttered, lips  
curving in a wry grin. She shook her head, chuffing a soft  
laugh as she headed for the door. "Never mind. I already  
know."  
  
  
Miller Residence  
9:06 a.m.  
  
  
Scully turned off the ignition and sighed, letting her  
head drop onto the seatback with a soft thump. She was  
currently suffering from what she privately called "PMS"  
\--  
post Mulder syndrome. PMS was a condition that occurred  
immediately after one of her partner's near death  
experiences. The rush of adrenaline tapped out, eyes  
bloodshot and gritty from sleep deprivation, mind numbed  
with overwhelming relief. Raleigh, North Carolina; Dead  
Horse, Alaska; a makeshift O.R. hidden in the bowels of the  
DoD... Gunshot wounds, alien retroviruses, experimental  
brain  
surgery -- not to mention snakes and mutant tobacco  
beetles. Too many hours spent in cheap plastic chairs,  
drinking horrible coffee and praying to a God whose  
existence she sometimes doubted. Mulder had more lives than  
a cat, but luck inevitably ran out.  
  
Was it any wonder she occasionally dreamed about stopping  
the car?  
  
Children's voices drifted through her open window. Scully  
blinked, abruptly aware that she'd been staring sightlessly  
at a baseball game being played in a wide cul de sac at the  
end of the street. Saturday morning, and it looked as if  
most of the neighborhood kids had turned out, split evenly  
between the two teams. Scully spotted Jacob immediately,  
standing beside a makeshift home plate, a bat cocked over  
his right shoulder. The pitcher, a towheaded boy in a  
ripped Sammy Sosa jersey, cranked his arm in a wide circle  
before firing a perfect toss. Jacob's swing, though in good  
form, came a little too late.  
  
"Strike three! You're out, Jacob!"  
  
Several outfielders performed a gleeful jig and headed in.  
Even from a distance, Scully could see Jacob's face go  
blank and very still. He pulled the bat back to his  
shoulder and crouched forward.  
  
"That was way outta the strike zone. Go again."  
  
The dancers froze, and the pitcher's blond head jerked up  
in obvious surprise. His fingers tightened around the  
baseball, and he slowly shook his head.  
  
"You was out, fair and square, Jacob Marcussen." The  
boy  
was trying for outrage, but only managed to sound anxious.  
  
Jacob shook his head slowly. "An' I say you missed it by  
a  
mile, Luke. Pitch it again."  
  
Luke turned, gaze roaming from child to child, searching  
for a show of support. What he found, however, were  
shuffling feet and evasive eyes. Swinging back around to  
face Jacob, he squared his shoulders and tipped his chin up  
defiantly.  
  
"It was good. An' you're out."  
  
Jacob pinned him with a long, intent stare, then dropped  
his bat to the asphalt with a clatter. He sauntered slowly  
over until he was nose to nose with Luke, who reflexively  
backed up a step.  
  
"I'd think real hard about that, Luke. Or else maybe..."  
He  
leaned in close, and his voice sank to a level too low for  
Scully to make out the words.  
  
The effect on Luke was electrical. He lurched backward,  
his feet tangling together until he nearly fell. Catching  
himself, he spun on his heel and took off between the  
houses at a run. Scully glimpsed a look of smug triumph on  
Jacob's face before he jogged back to home plate and  
scooped up the bat.  
  
"Who's pitchin'? Guess Luke doesn't want to play anymore."  
  
Scully shook off her stunned immobility and slipped out of  
the car, striding rapidly around the side of the house  
where she'd seen Luke disappear. The other children's  
voices faded, and she could hear the snapping of twigs, as  
if Luke had headed into the woods.  
  
"Luke? Luke, wait!" she called, breaking into a trot.  
  
By the time she reached the backyard, Luke was nowhere in  
sight. She slid to a halt, panting a little as she surveyed  
the wall of trees and foliage.  
  
"He's goin' to his hideout. Nobody knows where it is."  
  
The soft drawl at her elbow startled a gasp from Scully.  
She looked down at a little girl of no more than six, her  
curly blonde hair drawn into pigtails and tied with pink  
bows.  
  
"Hello." Scully dropped to a crouch so that she was  
at eye  
level with the child. "My name is Dana. I work for the  
FBI." She held out her badge.  
  
"I'm Jessica, but folks call me Jess," the little girl  
replied, studying her cautiously. "Are you looking for  
Rachel too, like that boy FBI agent?"  
  
Scully squashed the urge to smile, nodding instead.  
"That's right. That's my partner, Agent Mulder."  
  
Jess screwed up her face in puzzlement. "Why was you  
callin' for Luke? He done somethin' bad?"  
  
"No, not at all. I just wanted to ask him a few questions.  
Do you think he'll come home soon?"  
  
Jess shook her head. "Don't think so. Not after..."  
She  
faltered, eyes darting nervously away from Scully.  
"Sometimes he's gone for hours."  
  
"Jess?" Scully tried to keep her tone relaxed, her face  
open and friendly. "Can I ask you a few questions?"  
  
The little girl looked at her solemnly for a moment, then  
shrugged. Taking it as permission, Scully carefully stepped  
into the minefield, mentally holding her breath.  
  
"Agent Mulder told me that you and Rachel are best  
friends; is that right?" Scully rewarded the nod with a  
smile. "What about Luke and Jacob? Are they good friends?"  
  
Rachel's eyes widened to the size of blue saucers, and  
Scully could see her debate the merits of fight versus  
flight. She patiently waited, enduring the little girl's  
suspicious scrutiny, and was finally rewarded.  
  
"No. Jacob don't have friends."  
  
Not betraying her feelings of excitement and revulsion was  
hard. Scully bobbed her head thoughtfully. "Why do you  
think Jacob doesn't have any friends? He was playing  
baseball with everyone just now."  
  
Jess's gaze skipped nervously around, as if checking for  
observers, before she leaned in closer to Scully. "We let  
him play, 'cause we're too scared not to. You don't wanna  
get Jacob mad at ya."  
  
Scully pretended to consider this, looking puzzled. "Why?  
What happens when Jacob gets mad at you?"  
  
Jess wrapped her arms tightly around her small body. "Bad  
things."  
  
Scully licked her lips. "Jess, I'm going to ask you a very  
important question. But first, I'm going to promise you  
that whatever you tell me will stay between you, Agent  
Mulder, and me. Okay?"  
  
"Okaaay."  
  
"Do you remember when Luke fell off his bike and couldn't  
be in the school play?" Jess stared, then nodded. "What  
really happened, Jess? Was it just an accident?"  
  
"Jacob wanted Luke's part real bad," Jess said, her  
voice  
whisper-soft. "He told Luke to quit, but Luke wouldn't do  
it. Jacob got real, real mad and he told Luke he better  
quit the play or he'd make Luke sorry."  
  
Jess paused, eyes flitting about the yard once again.  
  
"Go on," Scully urged gently. "You're doing fine,  
Jess."  
  
"Luke likes to go bikin' down Jimson's Gap -- that's a  
dirt road that comes down the mountain across town. One  
day, a little while after Jacob said those things, Luke was  
ridin' down the hill and the front wheel of his bike just  
come clean off. He flipped right over the handlebars --  
hurt his head and broke his leg real bad. The doctor had to  
operate, and he was in the hospital a long time." Jess  
snuffled, swiping at teary eyes with the back of her hand.  
  
"That must have been scary," Scully said gently, giving  
the little girl's arm a sympathetic squeeze. "For Luke, and  
for you."  
  
"Jacob done it!" Jess blurted, her face flushed with  
anger  
and tears. "He messed with Luke's bike so the wheel would  
fall off! He hurt my brother on purpose so he could be in  
the play 'stead of Luke!"  
  
Scully kept her hand on Jessica's arm. "Sweetheart, I  
understand that Jacob threatened Luke. But how can you be  
sure he tampered with Luke's bike?"  
  
Jessica's face looked pinched and old beyond her years.  
"Jacob came over to visit Luke when he got home from the  
hospital. He gave him an envelope and told him not to let  
Mamma or Daddy see it if he knew what was good for him.  
There was a picture inside -- a drawin' of Jacob flyin' off  
his bike and landin' on his head. And there was a screw."  
  
Scully couldn't stop the grimace, but she reassembled her  
poker face as quickly as possible. "A screw...from Luke's  
bike?"  
  
Jess nodded gravely. "Jacob don't have friends, Dana. But  
he sure don't have enemies, either."  
  
Scully swallowed hard. "Do you think Luke would talk to me  
about the accident? Maybe tell me the whole story?"  
  
The little girl shook her head vehemently. "No ma'am. Luke  
made me swear never to tell anyone; he'd be real mad if he  
knew I talked to you."  
  
"Jess, you've been very helpful. But I have to ask you  
just one more question, even though it's a tough one. Do  
you think Jacob had anything to do with Rachel's  
disappearance?"  
  
Jess flinched, her reply almost inaudible. "If he set his  
mind to it, I think Jacob could make anyone disappear."  
  
She wriggled out of Scully's grasp and ran.  
  
  
Montgomery General Hospital  
10:32 a.m.  
  
  
Jackson Arnette, the doctor who had assumed responsibility  
for Mulder's care once he'd been shipped up to the second  
floor, was leaning against the nurses' station when Scully  
stepped off the elevator. She altered her trajectory,  
aiming for the physician instead of her partner's room. The  
tap of her heels caught Arnette's attention, and he quickly  
scribbled an instruction on the chart in his hands, before  
setting it aside and offering her a smile.  
  
"Well hello, Doctor Scully. Stoppin' by to check up on  
that partner of yours?"  
  
"Agent Mulder doesn't 'do' hospitals very well," Scully  
said, her own lips curving. "I've found it's in the best  
interest of all concerned if I keep a close eye on him."  
  
Arnette was easily as tall as Mulder, with the same, rangy  
build. He wore his dark hair long, so that it brushed the  
collar of his white dress shirt, and his deep blue eyes  
sparkled with warmth and good humor. All in all, a very  
nice package, Scully admitted, trying hard not to blush  
under his disconcertingly intense gaze, and feeling vaguely  
disloyal for even entertaining the thought.  
  
*Face it, Dana, you're not dead*  
  
Funny how the little voice in her head always sounded like  
Melissa.  
  
Arnette grinned. "I don't think he's been awake long  
enough to be much trouble. According to Cassie - that's his  
nurse - he woke up just long enough to eat a piece of toast  
and then fell right back to sleep. He was still out cold  
when I checked on him a few minutes ago."  
  
"You said you'd check his bloodwork again this morning.  
Did you get the results?"  
  
The doctor folded his arms and leaned back against the  
counter. "Everything looks good, real good. Serum levels  
of  
the ergotamine are so low they're barely detectable, and  
his BP's back to normal. I've started to ease him off the  
Dilantin, and if all goes well, I'll release him first  
thing tomorrow mornin'."  
  
"That's wonderful news. Thank you for everything, Doctor  
Arnette." Scully felt a slightly goofy grin spread across  
her face, discrediting her cool, professional response.  
  
Evidently Arnette felt it, too. Something behind his eyes  
shifted, and his gaze, though still warm, held a hint of  
disappointment. "Just doin' my job. You'd best warn your  
partner about the dangers of exceedin' recommended dosage  
of a prescription, though. He's just plain lucky he's not  
pushin' up daisies."  
  
*Way to rain on my parade* Scully thought ruefully.  
  
"Believe me, Doctor Arnette," she said aloud, turning  
back  
toward Mulder's room. "Agent Mulder is painfully aware of  
the danger."  
  
She pushed the door open just in time to catch Mulder with  
one bare foot on the linoleum and a wide-eyed, guilty  
expression on his face.  
  
"Hey, Scully. You look a lot better; that shower must have  
agreed with you." Though his diction was clear, his voice  
remained rough and raspy.  
  
Scully crossed her arms and pinned him with a steely  
glare. "Nice try, Mulder, but I'm still going to say it."  
  
"'It'?"  
  
"What in the hell are you doing out of bed?"  
  
Apparently deciding on a "best defense is a strong  
offense" approach, Mulder thrust out his bottom lip and  
narrowed his eyes. "Nature calls, Scully. I was just headed  
to the little patient's room."  
  
She huffed in exasperation and stalked over to the bed.  
"Mulder, you're still weak and likely to be lightheaded  
from the drugs. You shouldn't be attempting that without  
help."  
  
Mulder waggled his eyebrows, giving her his best  
lascivious look. "Ooo, Scully. Is that an offer?"  
  
Scully raised an eyebrow, her gaze deliberately wandering  
up and down his form. "You're in no shape to handle what  
I've got to offer, monster boy."  
  
"You know how I love it when you talk dirty." Mulder  
slid  
off the mattress onto both feet, swaying precariously.  
  
Scully's hand shot out reflexively to steady him, but  
after a moment he shrugged it off and shuffled slowly  
toward the bathroom. A poorly stifled snicker, erupting  
into a snort, caused him to glance over his shoulder. The  
hand pressed to Scully's lips couldn't hide the mirth in  
her eyes.  
  
"Nice view."  
  
Muttering under his breath, Mulder reached around to pull  
the hospital gown together before proceeding. He  
disappeared into the bathroom, but left the door ajar.  
  
"Did Luke talk to you?"  
  
Scully sank into the bedside chair, smothering a yawn with  
the back of her hand. Though she desperately needed a  
caffeine fix, she'd been unable to bring herself to consume  
a cup of coffee - normally a crucial component of her  
morning routine.  
  
"No. But his little sister did."  
  
"Jessica?"  
  
Mulder's path back to the bed zigzagged a bit erratically,  
and he didn't bother to suppress a deep sigh as he settled  
back into the pillows. He let his head loll to the right so  
that he could see her face.  
  
"Tell me everything, Scully."  
  
She did. She described the baseball game, Luke's abrupt  
flight, and Jessica's reluctant acquiescence to discussing  
Jacob. Mulder listened raptly, only interrupting once or  
twice to ask a question. When Scully finally finished  
speaking, he continued to study her, tugging his lip  
between thumb and index finger.  
  
"You believe now...don't you?" His eyes held neither  
triumph  
nor rebuke.  
  
"I don't want to, Mulder..." Her voice trailed off,  
and she  
gave a slight shake of her head before meeting his gaze.  
"But, God help me, I do."  
  
"I'm sorry, Scully."  
  
Her sleepless night bubbled to the surface, and Scully  
couldn't quite keep the snappish tone from her voice. "Why  
are you sorry? You were right all along." She shoved a lock  
of hair angrily behind her ear. "I just don't understand,  
Mulder. What turns a child into a monster? If he'd been  
abused, mistreated, maybe I could make some sense of all  
this. But Jacob is from a good home with two loving  
parents. I see nothing in his background to..."  
  
Mulder bolted upright, only to grimace and cradle his  
head. He absently pushed Scully's restraining hand off his  
shoulder, motioning for her to sit down.  
  
"Give me a minute, give me a minute," he muttered, lifting  
his head to stare vacantly at the open door. "That's it!  
That's what I was trying to remember. Yesterday afternoon,  
when we were talking to Beth, she made a remark... 'No  
reason  
to think history would repeat itself' - that's what she  
said." Mulder made a face. "I wanted to ask her what  
she  
meant by that, but she insisted on getting us coffee."  
  
Scully frowned. "What do you *think* she meant?"  
  
He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, leaning back to  
stare pensively at a crack in the ceiling. "Bear with me  
for a minute, all right, Scully? I started forming a theory  
back when I was at Oxford, and what I saw during my time in  
the VCU seemed to support it. True sociopaths - which is  
what most serial killers are, and what I believe Jacob to  
be -- lack the ability to distinguish right from wrong.  
They operate solely in their own best interests; they're  
completely egocentric. Any methods employed to satisfy  
their own needs and desires are therefore acceptable, even  
justified."  
  
"Like making your little sister disappear so that you can  
have a puppy," Scully murmured.  
  
"A puppy, your parents' undivided love and attention,  
control of the television remote..."  
  
Scully made a small sound of distress in the back of her  
throat, and he sent her an apologetic look before  
continuing.  
  
"Profiling serial killers, crawling into their heads, I  
became intrigued by the very question you just articulated  
\- why does one abused child turn into a monster, and  
another, an upstanding member of his community? And what  
about the ones from good homes, like the boys I told you  
about? What happened to leave them...broken beyond repair?"  
  
"You said you had a theory."  
  
Mulder flashed her an impudent grin. "Seven years, Scully.  
You should know by now, I always have a theory."  
  
His banter drove back the darkness surrounding her heart.  
Scully arched an eyebrow and pursed her lips. "Sorry,  
partner, but you'll have to make do without the slideshow."  
  
He pouted briefly before his eyes turned hazy with  
concentration. "As I researched the criminals I profiled,  
dug into their backgrounds, a pattern began to emerge. In  
every case, somewhere in the suspect's family tree there  
were other instances of sociopathic behavior. For the less  
serious offenses - armed robbery, rape, assault - the trait  
would show up on one side of the family, either through the  
mother or the father. But in the truly horrific criminals -  
the serial murderers, mutilators, torturers - the trait  
expressed itself on both sides."  
  
Scully stared at him, her mind working furiously to  
process his words. "Mulder, are you suggesting that  
sociopathy is a genotype? That a child can inherit the  
compulsion to kill the same way he inherits his father's  
dark hair or his mother's dimples?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Scully blew out a long gust of air and shook her head.  
"You never cease to amaze me."  
  
"Is that your way of saying I'm certifiable, or that you  
think I'm on to something?"  
  
"I have to choose one or the other?" She chuckled at  
his  
wounded expression, then sobered. "Actually, from a  
genetics standpoint, I suppose it makes sense. If  
sociopathy was linked to a recessive gene -- like blond  
hair or blue eyes -- then it could conceivably be carried  
but not expressed - or expressed to a lesser degree. Only  
the contribution of a gene from each parent would result in  
the complete manifestation of the phenotype, of the  
behavior."  
  
"You're validating my theory? Scully, I just got very  
turned on." Mulder's voice dropped and he leered at her  
shamelessly.  
  
"Don't get too excited, Ace. A theory is all it is, and an  
unsubstantiated one at that. I take it that you think  
Beth's comment about history repeating itself means there  
are some proverbial skeletons in the family closet?"  
  
"I think without concrete evidence it's going to be nearly  
impossible to convince anyone that Jacob Marcussen could be  
a killer. Maybe unearthing a few skeletons will give us the  
ammunition necessary to convince Beth and Sam to allow a  
psychiatrist to evaluate their son."  
  
Scully slowly shook her head. "I really don't think Beth  
will..."  
  
"I don't either. But as the esteemed Sheriff Sullivan so  
eloquently put it, this is a small town, Scully. Everyone  
knows everyone else's business - probably for generations.  
And we should be able to track down newspaper articles and  
police reports to give us what we're looking for."  
  
"Don't even think about it, Mulder. Less than eighteen  
hours ago, you were at death's door. You are not leaving  
this hospital before Dr. Arnette releases you in the  
morning."  
  
"I'm *fine*, Scully. There's no reason I can't..."  
  
"Wrong. The reason is that I will shoot you, and you know  
I don't miss." She softened at his obvious frustration.  
"I'll track down Sheriff Sullivan to see if he's got a  
story to tell. Hopefully he can also point me to a decent  
library where I can search old newspapers. You should be  
grateful to be spared that ordeal, Mulder; you know those  
microfilm readers make you nauseous."  
  
Mulder opened his mouth to argue, then got a crafty gleam  
in his eye. "I'll be a good little patient, Scully. IF you  
leave me your laptop."  
  
Scully's eyes narrowed. "I don't know. You're supposed to  
be resting."  
  
"I won't leave this bed! I can log on and conduct my own  
research without setting foot outside this hospital room."  
He tried to make his voice coaxing, but somehow it just  
sounded desperate.  
  
Scully heaved the sigh of a martyr. "Fine. It's in the  
car; I'll bring it up. But I'm warning you, Mulder..."  
  
She watched him exchange the pleading look for wide-  
eyed innocence, holding up his right hand with just the  
first two fingers extended. "I promise, Scully. Scout's  
honor."  
  
"You were an Indian Guide, not a Boy Scout, remember?"  
she  
said dryly, standing up.  
  
"Yeah. So?"  
  
"Mulder, if being partnered with you has taught me one  
thing, it's to never leave a loophole. You'll just use it  
to hang yourself."  
  
The expression on his face entertained her all the way  
down to the car.  
  
  
******************************************  
  
  
  
ACT V  
  
  
Gauley Bridge Sheriff's Office  
12:52 p.m.  
  
  
"How is Agent Mulder?" Sheriff Sullivan leaned back  
in  
his chair, chewing on the end of a pencil, eyebrows  
creeping together like two furry caterpillars as he  
expressed his concern for the FBI agent.  
  
"He's feeling much better, thank you, Sheriff. If he  
continues improving at this rate the doctor expects to  
release him from the hospital tomorrow."  
  
"My cousin's wife suffers from migraines. Terrible thing,  
I've seen her almost weepin' with the pain. I can  
understand how a person might accidentally take too many of  
those pills in a moment of desperation." Sullivan shook his  
head sympathetically.  
  
Scully's teeth clamped onto her bottom lip and she counted  
silently to fight off the growing anger bubbling up inside  
her. She couldn't quell the need to jump to Mulder's  
defense and explain in no uncertain terms that he was not  
responsible for his current predicament. She tamped down  
her irritation and opted instead for a less emotional  
response.  
  
"Agent Mulder doesn't suffer from migraines, and he didn't  
take an overdose of Ergomar, accidentally or otherwise.  
Someone gave it to him without his knowledge. He's lucky..."  
  
"Whoa, whoa, hang on there, Agent Scully! Just what are  
you implying?" Sheriff Sullivan brought his body forward  
and leaned his arms on the desk, the abused pencil returned  
none too gently to its former resting place -- an old,  
chipped coffee cup crammed with an assortment of pens and  
pencils, all bearing similar battle scars from time spent  
jammed between Sullivan's teeth.  
  
"I'm not implying anything; I am stating a fact. Agent  
Mulder was poisoned yesterday afternoon. Deliberately.  
Whoever did it had every intention of killing him."  
  
"Now, who the hell would want to do that?" The sheriff  
blustered, practically spitting the words at Scully.  
  
"We're still investigating. Agent Mulder's symptoms came  
on not long after we were at the Marcussens', interviewing  
Beth..."  
  
"I'm trustin' that what I'm hearin' here has nothing to do  
with you accusing Beth Marcussen of poisonin' Agent Mulder.  
Like I told you and your partner when you first came here,  
the Marcussens are fine, upstanding people. I'd stake my  
career on the fact that they've played no part in Rachel's  
disappearance. Those poor folks..."  
  
"Sheriff Sullivan, I'm not accusing Beth of hurting Agent  
Mulder. I'm simply telling you that we were at her home  
before he became ill. Which brings me to the point of my  
visit here..."  
  
"Well, all right, just as long as you understand that I  
won't be listenin' to anyone bad-mouthing the Marcussens."  
He swiped another pencil from the cup and shoved it between  
his teeth, clamping down viciously.  
  
Hmm. Scully did a quick mental backtrack. She was  
beginning to wonder if Sullivan was the right person to  
provide the kind of information she sought. The man was  
certainly defensive as far as Beth and Sam were concerned.  
How far could she push him before he flatly refused to  
talk? She abruptly decided to go for broke. What the heck --  
between them, she and Mulder had managed to antagonize most  
of the local law enforcement from coast to coast. One more  
time wouldn't make much difference, and right now Rachel  
Marcussen was more important than an overly sensitive  
sheriff.  
  
"I'm not here to 'bad-mouth' anyone. I'm here, just like  
you, to find a little girl. Now as I was saying, yesterday  
Agent Mulder and I went to speak with Beth, hoping to  
convince her to let us have Jacob evaluated by a  
psychologist. The Bureau has one on staff who specializes  
in pediatric trauma."  
  
"And why would you be wanting to do that?" The pencil  
left his mouth and now substituted for a drumstick, tapping  
an erratic beat on the desktop.  
  
"Sheriff Sullivan, Jacob obviously didn't see a spaceship  
the other night. He's compensating for his own fear by  
inventing a story about aliens abducting his sister. It's  
a coping mechanism, but if he could talk to a professional  
about his experience, he might open up and remember what  
really happened." Scully knew her explanation contained  
only half the truth, padding its razor-sharp corners.  
Fortunately, it satisfied Sullivan.  
  
"I see." Tap, tap, tap. "Well, yeah, you've got  
a point,  
Agent Scully. I take it Beth didn't agree, though?"  
  
"She was not entirely receptive to the idea. The idea of  
Jacob seeing a psychiatrist seemed to upset her, and she  
said something that left both Agent Mulder and me a little  
puzzled. Her exact words were, 'no reason to think history  
would repeat itself.' What do you suppose she met by that?"  
Scully sat back in her chair, watching Sullivan closely as  
the words sank in.  
  
The pencil drum solo abruptly ceased.  
  
The sheriff sucked in his bottom lip and gave it a workout  
with his teeth. Scully wondered idly if he'd forgotten the  
pencil was on the desk and not in his mouth.  
  
"Sheriff?" she prompted.  
  
More tapping.  
  
"I heard you, Agent Scully. I'm just decidin' whether I  
should allow this conversation to go any further. I get  
the distinct impression that you're fishin' for something  
that's going to implicate Beth in what's happened to  
Rachel." His eyes narrowed, bushy brows all but obscuring  
the shrewd glint.  
  
This was too much. Exhausted, emotions rubbed raw by  
Mulder's brush with death, deeply troubled by evidence that  
indicated Rachel Marcussen might have been murdered by her  
own brother - it all came crashing down around her.  
  
"Sheriff Sullivan, I am not the enemy here. Agent Mulder  
and I came to Gauley Bridge at *your* invitation. We  
promised to help you find out what happened to Rachel  
Marcussen, and Agent Mulder nearly died last night while  
trying to do so. That little girl is still missing, and  
you and I both know that every tick of the clock decreases  
her chances for survival. Now, if you are more concerned  
about Sam and Beth's reputations than you are about their  
daughter's life, I suggest that you handle this case any  
way you see fit. I'll arrange a flight back to D.C. for  
Agent Mulder and myself as soon as he is released from the  
hospital. You can reassure the Marcussens that their good  
name is still intact while you're explaining why Rachel  
hasn't been found." Scully gathered her things and stood,  
fighting to hang onto the shreds of her self-control.  
  
The pencil slipped from Sullivan's fingers, rolled across  
the desk and landed on the floor.  
  
*Thank God* Scully thought.  
  
"Agent Scully." The words seemed to fumble around in  
his  
mouth before he could bring himself to say them. "You're  
right; I've been acting like an ass. I guess I'm a bit  
territorial when it comes to Gauley Bridge. I *am* the law  
in this town, and I take my job seriously. I told you  
before, in a small town, everyone knows everyone else's  
business. Good and bad. I was just tryin' to protect Sam,  
Beth, and Jacob from any more pain. Guess I didn't go  
about it the right way. Please accept my apology."  
  
Scully closed her eyes, dropping her head until her chin  
rested on her chest. God, she was so tired. But her  
intention had never been to leave, just to force the  
Sheriff into some positive action.  
  
"I'm sorry too. It's been a long couple of days." She  
offered Sullivan a small smile. "Now, if you don't mind,  
I'd appreciate any insight you may have into what exactly  
Beth meant." Scully resumed her seat.  
  
"I'm not sure how much help I can be. What little I know  
is mostly hearsay. Somethin' happened a long time ago in  
Beth's family. She doesn't like to talk about it, and I've  
never been one to pry. What's past is past; no need to keep  
reliving it. We all got family members we'd rather not  
claim as one of our own. No sense thinkin' one bad apple  
is gonna spoil the whole barrel."  
  
Scully bit back the urge to recite Mulder's recessive gene  
theory, preferring instead to hold her tongue and let  
Sheriff Sullivan continue.  
  
"What I do know, is that it has something to do with  
Beth's grandmother. Way I heard it, she murdered a member  
of her own family, and they locked her away in some  
psychiatric institution. I believe she remained there until  
she died a few years back." He shrugged, sliding his hand  
along his jawline, searching his mind for more information.  
  
"I believe most of the investigation took place in  
Charleston. If you want details, I can give you the name of  
a buddy of mine. He's the station clerk at the Charleston  
PD. Just mention my name, and I'm sure he'll be willin' to  
help you out, point you in the right direction."  
  
Sullivan pulled a piece of paper from under the coffee cup  
holding the masticated pencils, selected a pen, and  
scribbled down a name. He reached across and handed it to  
Scully.  
  
"Ask for Amos Page."  
  
Scully took the paper and ran her eyes over it before  
folding and slipping it into her pocket.  
  
"Thank you. I appreciate your feelings in this matter,  
Sheriff. Please believe me when I say that our only  
intentions are to do whatever is necessary to bring Rachel  
home." She held out her hand.  
  
"You're welcome, Agent Scully. I just don't want to see  
this end badly." He shook Scully's hand, then stooped to  
pick up the fallen pencil, tossing it on his desk.  
  
"Neither do we."  
  
Outside Sullivan's office, Scully took a moment to stretch  
tight muscles. Turning her face toward the warm sunshine,  
she tipped her head from side to side, working the kinks  
from her neck, sighing at a particularly loud and  
satisfying crack.  
  
Coffee. She could really use a cup of coffee. Her need  
for caffeine outweighed her previous reluctance, and now  
she found herself searching for a diner so she could grab a  
cup before she hit the road.  
  
Twenty minutes and one cup of coffee later, Scully's car  
was winding along highway 60 towards Charleston. She  
balanced her cell phone against the steering wheel with one  
hand while she punched in the hospital number with the  
other. As she waited for someone to pick up, she wondered  
if Mulder had found anything worthwhile on the Internet.  
  
  
  
Montgomery General Hospital  
1:36 p.m.  
  
  
The high pitched trilling snapped him awake, blinking and  
disoriented. Mulder ground the heel of one hand into sleep-  
gritty eyes, fumbling for the phone with the other.  
  
"H'lo?"  
  
A brief silence, then Scully's voice, low and amused. "I  
woke you up."  
  
Mulder squirmed to a more upright position, noting that  
someone had shutdown the laptop and reconnected the phone  
line. He forced heavy eyes wide open, hating the thick,  
sludgy feeling to his thoughts.  
  
"What makes you say that?"  
  
The overt affection in her reply warmed him, even as her  
words irritated him. "Well, you only answer the phone by  
saying 'hello' if you're half asleep." Another pause for  
effect. "And there's the fact that more than ten seconds  
have passed without you asking if I've learned anything  
significant."  
  
"The nurse slipped me a Mickey after lunch," he whined,  
running his tongue around the inside of his mouth with a  
grimace. "Thought you said Arnette was taking me off that  
stuff."  
  
"I said he was tapering off the Dilantin, Mulder, not  
eliminating it altogether. You are supposed to be resting,  
after all."  
  
"So, did you find out anything significant?"  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"*Maybe*?"  
  
"Well, after a little...persuasion, Sheriff Sullivan  
admitted to hearing about some kind of incident involving  
Beth's grandmother. The family lived in a suburb of  
Charleston at the time - this was nearly seventy-five years  
ago."  
  
"Persuasion, huh, Scully? Bet ol' Jonas was putty in those  
little hands." He couldn't resist teasing her, wishing she  
were present so that he could watch her roll her eyes.  
  
"Are you finished?" she asked dryly.  
  
"Yes, ma'am. What kind of incident?"  
  
"Sullivan was reluctant to say, other than the fact that  
a  
death was involved. Evidently Beth has tried to keep the  
whole thing very quiet, refuses to talk about it. There are  
plenty of rumors, of course, but Sullivan has never  
bothered to substantiate any of them. 'What's past is  
past', is the way he put it. He was less than pleased with  
the entire line of questioning."  
  
Mulder coiled the phone cord around his little finger,  
trying to jolt sluggish thought processes into motion.  
"You're onto something, Scully. I think you should..."  
  
"I'm in the car, Mulder, headed down Highway 60, about  
twenty minutes out of Charleston."  
  
She couldn't see the grin, so he made his voice low and  
smoky. "I've always been partial to June weddings, babe,  
how 'bout you?"  
  
Scully snorted. "Is that supposed to cover the fact that  
you've come up empty, Ace?"  
  
"Scully, you wound me. As you pointed out, less than  
twenty-four hours ago I was at death's door, clinging to  
life by my..."  
  
"Nothing, hmm?"  
  
"Call me as soon as you know anything, Scully."  
  
"I will."  
  
Mulder replaced the receiver in its cradle, then stared  
reproachfully at the laptop's dark screen. He'd tried  
digging for information on Sam Marcussen's family history  
for nearly two hours before succumbing to fatigue and the  
effects of the Dilantin. Though he'd done little more than  
spin his wheels, he had hopes that, armed with whatever  
Scully found out in Charleston, they might be able to talk  
Beth and Sam into allowing a psychiatric evaluation of  
Jacob. Though he had little doubt what the results would  
be, he feared that for Rachel it would all be too little,  
too late. Missing nearly four days - odds were slim that  
the little girl would be found alive.  
  
Mulder had picked up the modem connection and was propped  
on one elbow, reaching for the jack, when the phone rang  
again. Scooping it up, he flopped back onto his pillow.  
  
"Mulder," he sighed. Scully's words echoed in his head,  
and he smirked at the ceiling.  
  
"Hey, Wonderboy. What in the hell happened to you?"  
Tim  
Spencer chirped.  
  
"Long story, Spence, and highly implausible," Mulder  
replied, lips quirking. "How'd you know I was here?"  
  
"I know your MO, Mulder. Whenever you hit town for a case,  
it's best to scope out the nearest medical institution."  
Tim chuffed a little at his own joke.  
  
"Very funny. Your concern is touching."  
  
"Okay, seriously - are you all right? When I talked to  
your partner, she said something about poisoning." The lilt  
left Spencer's voice, replaced by honest concern.  
  
"I'm fine; the doctor says he'll spring me first thing  
tomorrow morning. You talked to Scully?"  
  
"Yeah, she gave me her cell phone number when I talked to  
her the other night. I caught her leaving the sheriff's  
office. You two must be making headway on the case if  
someone tried to kill you. Do you know who did it?"  
  
Mulder hesitated, gnawing on his lip. When the silence  
stretched long between them, Spencer cleared his throat.  
  
"Mulder?"  
  
Mulder pulled in a deep breath of air. "Spence, this is  
just between us for now, all right? Until Scully and I can  
nail a few things down, we're keeping our suspicions quiet.  
This one could really blow up in someone's face - probably  
ours."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Mulder glanced uneasily at his open door, dropping his  
voice. "I am ninety-nine percent certain that Jacob  
Marcussen is responsible for his sister's disappearance and  
my unfortunate overdose."  
  
This time the silence stretched out on Spencer's end of  
the line, punctuated at last by a long, low whistle. "You  
never go the easy route, do ya, Wonderboy? Guess I can  
understand why you aren't broadcastin' that particular  
theory." He paused, then added. "This isn't D.C., Mulder.  
No one's going to accept that little boy hurt his sister  
without concrete proof."  
  
"Believe me, I know," Mulder said gloomily. "I  
need to  
talk the parents into having him evaluated. Scully and I  
are looking for indications of psychological instability in  
either side of the family. She's checking out a lead in  
Charleston."  
  
"You know..." Spencer let the words trail off. When  
he  
resumed speaking, his voice was slow, and his manner  
distracted. "Ever since this case came up, something about  
the name has been buggin' me. Like I'd heard it somewhere  
before, though I can't put my finger on where that would  
be."  
  
"The name? You mean Marcussen?"  
  
"Yeah. My granddad was a great one for tellin' us stories  
about famous criminals - Dillinger, Capone, Manson... Drove  
my mother nuts; she complained all he did was give us fuel  
for nightmares. To tell you the truth, though, I think  
that's how I wound up in this crazy job."  
  
"You think maybe that's where you heard the name  
Marcussen?" Mulder couldn't keep a touch of eagerness from  
his voice.  
  
"Not sure. Could be, though. How about I do a little  
diggin' around here and get back to you?" The amusement  
abruptly returned to Spence's voice. "Guess for once I  
won't have to track you down, huh, Wonderboy?"  
  
"Funny. I can see your sense of humor, such as it is,  
hasn't changed. I'll be right here."  
  
"Back in a few."  
  
Mulder hung up the phone, absently fiddling with the modem  
cable before dropping it back onto the tray table. He  
thought about Jacob Marcussen, in many ways the mirror  
image of a young Fox Mulder. Was it really just genetics  
that distinguished between hunter and hunted?  
  
Mulder possessed the ability - he refused to think of it  
as a gift - to profile killers. A simple term for something  
far more complex and confusing. His final dark days with  
VICAP had blurred into a continuous nightmare, slipping in  
and out of the heads of some of the most repugnant and  
inhuman monsters. No respite, because the more he caught,  
the more they sent his way. It got so that he couldn't  
shake the filth from one before polluting himself with  
another. And through it all, he'd seen the distaste on the  
faces of his fellow agents, heard the cruel whispers.  
  
Impossible to immerse yourself so completely in the mind  
of a killer.  
  
Impossible unless you shared the same tendencies.  
  
Mulder closed his eyes, telling himself that Jacob  
Marcussen was a cold-blooded murderer. That right now he  
had no place in society and probably never would.  
  
And he tried hard not to see Beth Marcussen's devastated  
face.  
  
  
Charleston Police Department  
2:56 p.m.  
  
  
Scully liked him immediately. He could have been anywhere  
from fifty to sixty years old. She supposed his hair might  
once have been brown, like Mulder's, but now there was only  
a vague suggestion of the previous color poking out between  
silvery strands. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, and she  
found herself thinking that what she liked most about this  
man was his friendly, open face.  
  
Skin tanned and weathered by too much time spent in the  
sun, accentuated blue eyes that shone brightly from beneath  
heavy gray brows. Amos Page reminded Scully of Paul  
Newman, the rugged good looks of youth only improved by  
age. She tried to imagine Mulder in his fifties, or even  
his sixties, his smooth, boyish face lined, and gray  
dusting his temples. Her heart constricted as she realized  
just how much she wanted to share Mulder's old age -  
naturally and in due time, not hastened by tainted water.  
Scully gave herself a mental shake and stifled the little  
chuckle of amusement that threatened to escape.  
  
"Well, hello there, young lady. I'm guessin' you must be  
Agent Scully."  
  
Scully's eyebrows communicated her surprise, and her hand  
rested lightly on the badge still tucked inside her pocket.  
  
"Don't be startled; news travels fasts in these parts.  
The carrier pigeon arrived not ten minutes ago." Amos  
erupted into a hearty guffaw of laughter. "I'm only  
kidding! Jonas called ahead and told me to expect you."  
  
Yes, she liked this man. His good humor was contagious,  
and before Scully could stop herself, a smile had taken  
over her own features.  
  
"Amos Page?" Scully offered him her hand instead of  
her  
badge.  
  
"One and the same." His meaty paw engulfed her much  
smaller digits and pumped her arm enthusiastically, while  
with the other, he swung open the partition gate and  
motioned her in.  
  
"Welcome to my humble abode. Come right in and make  
yourself comfortable." Amos scooped a pile of folders and  
papers from a chair, dumped them on the floor, and pulled  
it in front of his desk. "Have a seat." He returned  
to  
his own chair on the other side of the desk.  
  
"Can I get you anything? Coffee? A soda? Water? Just say  
the word." Page picked up a pencil and started to twirl it  
around his fingers.  
  
*If he starts chewing or tapping that thing, I won't be  
held responsible for my actions.*  
  
"Nothing for me, thanks. I do have a few questions I'd  
like to ask you. My partner and I are investigating..."  
  
"The disappearance of the Marcussen child. Yes, yes, I  
know. Well, let's face it, you'd have to be living under a  
rock not to've heard about it. We've been doin' a bit of  
investigatin' ourselves -- mainly helping out your boys in  
the Roanake office. But from what Jonas tells me, you're  
here for some family history. What exactly do you want to  
know?"  
  
"There was an incident some years back that involved Beth  
Marcussen's grandmother. Sheriff Sullivan was a little  
sketchy on the details, but said you might be able to fill  
in the blanks. The original investigation was carried out  
in Charleston; is that correct?" Scully pulled out her  
notebook and started patting her pockets.  
  
"Here, use my pencil," Amos offered, handing over the  
one  
he'd been fiddling with.  
  
"Thanks." Scully couldn't help giving the implement  
a  
quick inspection for teeth marks. She felt a little silly  
at the brief feeling of relief that washed over her -- the  
pencil was smooth and even.  
  
"Now 'bout that case involvin' Beth's grandmother. I do  
remember it well. I wasn't born when it happened, but I  
heard plenty about it as I was growing up. Why, my own  
daddy was part of the investigatin' team." His eyes turned  
wistful as he sifted through his memories.  
  
"Any information you can provide would be very helpful to  
us," Scully prompted.  
  
"Oh, I don't mind helpin' you folks out. I'm just tryin'  
to sort fact from gossip. I'm sure you know how these  
things get blown all out of proportion over time. My daddy  
didn't like to talk about it too much, but he did tell me  
the whole story once, when I was about twelve or thirteen.  
All sorts of rumors were flyin' around, and he wanted to  
set me straight. From what I can remember, it happened  
some time around the early 1940's. Katherine Jensen. That  
gal was the talk of the town her whole life."  
  
"What do you mean?" Scully asked, jotting the name and  
date in her note book.  
  
"She was really quite brilliant. I don't know that they  
had such things as IQ tests back then, but I'd guess she  
would've rated in the genius category." Amos shook his  
head. "Sometimes it doesn't pay to be too smart," he  
added.  
  
"Katherine graduated from high school at the age of  
fifteen and was packed off to the University. Back then,  
the University of Charleston was located out at  
Barboursville --wasn't till around 1942 that it moved to  
the city, where it is today. It used to be run by the  
Methodists, and I believe that was the only reason her  
folks allowed her to go. Anyway, she was studyin' to become  
a pharmaceutical chemist, and one of the youngest students  
ever accepted into a university in these parts. I believe  
that record still holds. By the time she was eighteen, she  
was back in Charleston, apprenticed to the local  
pharmacist. 'Course, as you know..."  
  
"Katherine Jensen, Beth's grandmother, was a licensed  
pharmacist?" Could history really be repeating itself? The  
parallels between Jacob and his great grandmother were  
eerie.  
  
"You got it. But she didn't keep workin' for long. This  
area is mostly mining country, and back then it was a  
thrivin' industry. Katherine met a young man who worked in  
the mines. The story has it that they fell head over heels  
in love. Katherine quit her job at the drug store, much to  
her family's dismay, and married him. They moved to a  
little cottage just outside of the city. From what my  
daddy told me, they lived a fairly quiet life, and if my  
memory serves me right, I think they had five kids. Just  
your average American family: hard workin', morally  
upstandin' people. Then one night - clear outta the blue --  
Katherine just up and killed the whole damn lot. Her  
husband and all the kids...well, all but one, anyway. You  
know, it still sends a shiver down my spine. To think  
someone who appeared so 'normal' could just up and do a God-  
awful thing like that..." His voice trailed off.  
  
*Yes* Scully thought. *Someone so normal, so ostensibly  
innocent. Like a young housewife and mother.*  
  
*Or an eleven-year-old boy.*  
  
"You said she killed the whole family except for one  
child. Obviously Beth's mother must have survived."  
  
Amos Page jumped, plucked back from the horrors of a 60-  
year-old massacre.  
  
"Yes, you're right, of course. We wouldn't have Beth if  
everyone had died." He managed a small smile. "Beth's  
mother, Janie, was just an infant. Apparently, she was  
found just barely clingin' to life the next morning,  
covered in her own vomit. As disgusting as it sounds, it's  
the very thing that saved her life. Katherine poisoned the  
family, added somethin' to the evening meal, and left them  
to die in their sleep. Janie was the only one to vomit it  
up. Back then, it was hailed as a miracle. And honestly,  
Agent Scully, who's to say it wasn't?"  
  
Scully wondered if miracles ran in the Marcussen family  
too. For Rachel's sake, she hoped so.  
  
"Who found the victims?" she asked.  
  
"Now, this is where it gets really creepy." Amos stated,  
his eyes glazing over as his thoughts once again turned  
inward.  
  
"More creepy than a mother killing her husband and kids?"  
Scully was still trying to wrap her mind around Page's  
revelation.  
  
"The next morning Katherine had a visit from one of her  
neighbors. She invited the woman in for a cup of tea, just  
like always. They sat and chatted for a while, until the  
neighbor asked after the children. Do you know what  
Katherine told her? 'Oh, I don't have children anymore.  
I'm tired of bein' a mother, and I've decided to go back to  
workin' at the drug store.' Of course, the woman thought  
Katherine was havin' a little fun at her expense. After a  
bit, though, when she didn't change her tune and the kids  
still didn't show up, the neighbor got real worried. She  
waited until Katherine left the room to bring her some more  
tea and went snoopin'. You can imagine her horror when she  
found all those little ones so still and cold in their  
beds. Fortunately for Janie, she had the presence of mind  
to check for a pulse. When she realized the baby was still  
alive, she took her straight to the hospital. You want to  
know the darndest thing?"  
  
"There's more?" Scully asked, wondering just how much  
worse this could possibly get.  
  
"When the police arrived, Katherine was still in the  
house, goin' about her chores just as she would on any  
given day. She greeted the police-- my daddy being one of  
them-- and invited them in for a glass of lemonade. She had  
absolutely no remorse, no sense that what she'd done was  
wrong. So far as she was concerned, she'd done what was  
necessary to pursue her career."  
  
"What happened to her?"  
  
"The courts put her away in an asylum, never to be  
released. She's been dead some fifteen years now, I think."  
  
Scully's thoughts skipped to Jacob. *'Can I have a puppy  
if Rachel doesn't come back?'* She let her eyes slip shut  
for a moment as the truth about the boy finally hit home.  
Nausea welled up in her throat, and she swallowed thickly  
to keep it down.  
  
"Mr. Page, do you keep files dating back to that time?  
Would you have documentation on that case?"  
  
"Sure do. It's filed away down in the basement. It might  
take me a few minutes to find it, but if you can wait I'll  
be glad to go take a look."  
  
"I'd appreciate that. I'd like to make some copies, too,  
if I may?" Scully handed back the pencil and slipped her  
notebook into a pocket.  
  
"Not a problem, Agent Scully. The copier is downstairs,  
too. I'll fire that up for you while I'm at it."  
  
Amos Page was as good as his word. Within fifteen  
minutes, he was back upstairs and handing over copies of  
the police reports.  
  
"It's been a real pleasure meetin' you, Agent Scully. I  
hope I've been of some help."  
  
"Thank you, Mr. Page. You've been a great deal of help."  
  
Scully tucked the envelope containing the documents under  
her arm and reached for her cell phone. She knew she  
should be elated that she'd made so much headway in the  
case. But the thought of convincing Beth that her son could  
be a murderer brought her no joy. How should they break  
the news? Sometimes she really hated her job.  
  
  
Montgomery General Hospital  
3:13 p.m.  
  
  
This time when the phone rang, he found he'd actually  
drooled on the pillow. Cursing softly under his breath,  
Mulder nearly upended a cup of water when he snatched up  
the receiver.  
  
"He...Mulder."  
  
"Don't know if it's going to help, but Sam Marcussen has  
a  
real interesting branch on the ol' family tree."  
  
Mulder ran a hand over his face. "Tell me."  
  
"Joseph Robert Marcussen - let's see, that would be Sam's  
great grandfather - was in the bank robbing business. Got  
away with it nearly a dozen times before gettin' in the way  
of a bullet and dying at the ripe old age of thirty-two."  
  
"You found a file on him?"  
  
"Well, let's just say he was on the 'most wanted' list  
carried by the local law enforcement in a three state  
radius. Quite the celebrity."  
  
Mulder sighed. "I appreciate the info, Spence, but armed  
robbery isn't quite what I was expecting."  
  
Spence clucked his tongue. "So hard to please. Would it up  
the ante if I told you that part of what made him so famous  
was the trail of bodies he left in his wake?"  
  
"Bodies?"  
  
"Yep. Seems our pal Joe had a nasty habit of eliminating  
any and all possible witnesses. Even if they happened to be  
women or small children. The guy had no compunction about  
pullin' the trigger."  
  
Mulder felt his heartrate double, the last vestiges of  
sleep evaporating. "Can you copy that information and fax  
it to the sheriff's office?"  
  
"Easier done than said."  
  
"I take back at least fifty percent of the things I've  
said about you over the years, Spencer."  
  
"You always were generous to a fault, Wonderboy," Spence  
said dryly. "Listen, I've got to run. Make sure you don't  
leave town before introducin' me to that pretty partner of  
yours."  
  
Mulder's eyebrows crawled up his forehead. "I know I've  
mentioned Scully plenty of times over the years, Spencer,  
but I'm certain I've pleaded the fifth on her looks. How do  
you know she's pretty?"  
  
Spencer chuckled. "Got a sixth sense about these things,  
Mulder. I could hear it in her voice - and yours. Catch you  
later."  
  
So Beth Marcussen wasn't the only one with a shadow  
darkening her past, Mulder mused. Tim's description of the  
infamous Joseph Marcussen certainly indicated the kind of  
pathology exhibited by Jacob - extreme egocentricity and a  
total disregard for others. Now if Scully could only  
substantiate a similar occurrence with Beth's grandmother,  
perhaps they could convince the couple to consider their  
suspicions. They were dabbling in the purely theoretical,  
of course, not hard, irrefutable fact. But then, the object  
wasn't to prove Jacob's involvement, only to open the  
possibility.  
  
Mulder grunted in annoyance, shifting restlessly.  
Meanwhile a little girl was out there somewhere, waiting to  
be found. He only hoped she would be alive.  
  
Three soft taps of knuckles on wood startled him out of  
his brooding. Mulder looked up into the face of a stranger,  
hovering uncertainly in the doorway. He looked to be in his  
early to mid fifties, a few rebellious streaks of brown in  
mostly gray hair. He wore the white coat of a physician  
with a stethoscope casually slung around his neck.  
  
"Agent Mulder?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Forgive me for the intrusion. You don't know me, but I've  
had the pleasure of meetin' your lovely partner, Agent  
Scully. My name's Blake, Doctor Donald Blake."  
  
*Scully, you've got 'em falling at your feet* Mulder  
thought with amusement as he motioned Blake into the room.  
  
"Of course! Come in, Doctor Blake. What can I do for you?"  
  
Blake stepped through the doorway, but didn't venture past  
the foot of the bed. "Oh nothing, Agent Mulder, nothing at  
all. I was here makin' my rounds when I heard about what  
happened to you. Just thought I'd stop by and see that you  
were doin' all right."  
  
"I'm feeling much better, thanks," Mulder replied.  
"According to Doctor Arnette, I'll be released in the  
morning."  
  
"Good, good, I'm glad to hear it," Blake beamed. With  
some  
amusement, Mulder realized the man reminded him of Marcus  
Welby. "Jack Arnette is a fine doctor; you're in good  
hands." He squinted, stabbing a finger at Mulder. "You'd  
best watch your consumption of Ergomar in the future, young  
man. It's a powerful drug, and not to be taken casually, as  
I've warned Beth many times. I know the pain of a migraine  
can drive you near out of your head, but..."  
  
"Beth? You mean Beth Marcussen?" Mulder heard the sharp  
edge to his words, took a steadying breath.  
  
"Yes. Guess you wouldn't know that she suffers from the  
same affliction. Used to be, her headaches would get so bad  
she couldn't function. The Ergomar has been a godsend for  
the poor woman."  
  
He wasn't surprised, really, but to hear his suspicions  
confirmed so casually was...jarring. His face must have  
revealed his discomfiture, because Blake frowned and began  
moving toward the door.  
  
"I can see you're tired, I won't overstay my welcome."  
He  
hesitated, eyes moving uncertainly over Mulder's face.  
"Agent Mulder, forgive me for askin', but have you made any  
progress toward finding little Rachel? Agent Scully  
mentioned that y'all specialize in this kind of case, so I  
was hoping..."  
  
Mulder dusted off his Special Agent persona and slipped it  
on. "I understand your concern, Doctor Blake, but I'm not  
at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation."  
  
"Of course, of course," Blake said hurriedly, but his  
face  
crumpled.  
  
"I can tell you that we're doing everything humanly  
possible to find Rachel and bring her home safely."  
  
Blake nodded, his reply cut short by the ringing of  
Mulder's phone. Settling for a parting wave, he hastened  
out of the room as Mulder reached yet again for the  
receiver.  
  
"Hotel California." He could feel her eyebrow arch.  
  
"The Eagles, Mulder?"  
  
"'You can check out anytime you like, but you can never  
leave.' Now tell me that doesn't describe this place."  
  
"You sound a lot perkier than you did a couple hours ago,  
Mulder. Anything you'd like to share?"  
  
Halfway through a look of righteous indignation, Mulder  
remembered he lacked an audience. "*Perky*? Scully, I do  
not do 'perky'. If what you sense, however, is an aura of  
satisfaction, it's because I'm finally making some headway  
around here. How about you?"  
  
"Uh-uh. You first, Ace. I'm all ears."  
  
Mulder cradled the phone between his shoulder and his ear,  
reaching for the water pitcher. As he recounted his phone  
conversations with Tim and Doctor Blake's visit, he poured  
himself a glass of water to soothe the burning of his still  
tender throat. By the time he'd finished bringing her up to  
speed, his voice had deteriorated to a hoarse rasp, and he  
gulped down the cool liquid gratefully.  
  
"I guess that settles it." Scully's tone was strangely  
flat and lifeless. "It would be easy enough for a  
resourceful kid like Jacob to figure out how many of his  
mother's pills would be sufficient to cause an overdose.  
Beth would be unlikely to notice a few extra were missing."  
  
"You all right, Scully? You sound a little strange."  
  
"I'm fine, Mulder." She heard his impatient grunt, and  
managed a feeble laugh. "All right, maybe 'fine' is  
stretching it a bit. The truth is, I'm tired, and this case  
disturbs me on a number of levels that I'd rather not  
explore. I just want to find that little girl and go home."  
  
Mulder resisted the urge to pull the phone from his ear  
and stare at it. Scully admitting she was feeling  
vulnerable? While half of him rejoiced, the other wanted to  
demand, "Who are you, and what have you done with my  
partner?"  
  
"Sounds like you opened your own can of worms this  
afternoon," he said quietly. "What did you learn about  
Beth's grandmother?"  
  
"She didn't kill *a* family member, Mulder; she murdered  
her entire family." Scully proceeded to relate the entire  
story, a barely perceptible tremor creeping into her voice  
when she told of the neighbor finding Beth's mother,  
covered in her own vomit and more dead than alive. "It's  
a  
miracle she survived, Mulder. No wonder Beth became so  
upset when we suggested Jacob see a psychiatrist."  
  
"I wonder if Beth used to visit her grandmother in the  
asylum," Mulder mused. "In any case, she's obviously  
terrified of her grandmother's legacy. Of history repeating  
itself."  
  
"And it has." A sough of breath, and he could hear her  
mentally squaring her shoulders. "I've made copies of the  
relevant documents, Mulder, and I'm getting ready to leave  
here. We can decide how to proceed when I get there. If  
you're good, I might even smuggle in some dinner."  
  
He could hear the effort she put into the weak joke and  
tried to respond appropriately.  
  
"Scully, I'm *always* good."  
  
She snorted. "See you in about an hour."  
  
His hands performed the task of hanging up the phone and  
pouring another cup of water, but his thoughts were a  
million miles away. Even armed with the knowledge that a  
history of sociopathic behavior existed in the Marcussen  
family tree, Beth was going to be difficult to convince.  
And once convinced, it would still take time for a  
psychiatrist to thoroughly evaluate Jacob.  
  
Rachel had now been missing for nearly four days.  
  
Time was a luxury they didn't possess.  
  
Jacob was the key to finding Rachel, and Jacob was the one  
they needed to confront. *He* needed to confront.  
  
Mulder lay on his back, staring sightlessly at the  
ceiling. Jacob was vulnerable. He'd realized Mulder was on  
to him, been scared enough to try poisoning him. Now he'd  
be twice as frightened. If he could get Jacob alone, push  
the right buttons, he might just cave under the pressure  
and come clean about Rachel's whereabouts.  
  
If he could get Jacob alone. No Sam. No Beth. No Scully.  
  
Jacob saw Scully as a weak link, easy to manipulate with  
little boy charm and crocodile tears. If Mulder were to  
have a viable chance at getting Jacob to confess, he'd have  
to do it without his partner. Which left him with one  
course of action.  
  
Ditch Scully.  
  
Boy, was she going to be pissed.  
  
Mulder executed the technique he'd used in any number of  
Scully-ditches. He grit his teeth, resolutely forced  
Scully's face from his mind, and grabbed the phone.  
  
"I need the number for the closest cab company to  
Montgomery General Hospital..."  
  
  
******************************************  
  
  
ACT VI  
  
  
Marcussen Residence  
5:07 p.m.  
  
  
He met Beth coming out the front door. Head turned so that  
she was gazing back into the house, she nearly bowled him  
over. A small slip of paper and her keys tumbled onto the  
front porch with a dissonant jingle, and her eyes flew open.  
  
  
"Agent Mulder! I'm so sorry; are you all right?" She  
touched his arm in an expression of concern, looking him up  
and down for damage.  
  
Actually, he'd been feeling rather lightheaded ever since  
leaving the hospital, but he pasted on a reassuring smile.  
"I'm fine; are you okay?"  
  
"Except for a terminal case of clumsiness! I was just  
headed out to the store - got halfway through cookin'  
supper and realized that all the onions are moldy. Did you  
need to talk to me? And where's Agent Scully?" Beth gushed  
breathlessly.  
  
"Agent Scully had to drive into Charleston. And I actually  
stopped by to speak to Jacob, if that's all right."  
  
Despite Mulder's deliberately casual tone, Beth tensed,  
and her eyes turned from open and friendly to apprehensive  
and suspicious.  
  
"May I ask why?"  
  
Mulder twitched one shoulder in a brief shrug and slipped  
his hands casually into his pockets. Scully had brought him  
a clean suit in anticipation of his release the following  
morning, little knowing she'd wind up aiding and abetting  
his escape from the hospital.  
  
"Just wanted to see how he's doing. Shoot the breeze."  
  
Beth shuffled her feet, glancing at her watch. "I really  
need to get that onion," she said doubtfully. "Sam's  
due  
home at six, and the casserole needs to bake for thirty  
minutes."  
  
"You go right ahead. I'll just keep Jacob company until  
you get back." Mulder leaned against the door, trying hard  
to appear non-threatening.  
  
"Weeell, I guess that would be all right. I'll only be  
gone about twenty minutes." She smiled tentatively.  
"Jacob's back in his bedroom, playin' on the computer. You  
can head right on back; you know the way."  
  
"I'll do that. And please don't rush; we'll be fine."  
  
Mulder waited until Beth had climbed into her car and  
pulled out of the driveway before walking quietly through  
the living room and down the hallway to Jacob's door. He  
paused, listening to the innocuous sound of rapid clicks  
and electronic laser bolts punctuated by soft grunts and  
muttered expletives. Ordinary, everyday sounds made by  
ordinary, everyday kids. Except this kid was just as far  
from "ordinary" and "everyday" as you could  
possibly get.  
Steeling himself for what lay ahead, Mulder knocked softly  
on the door.  
  
"Come in!"  
  
At first he couldn't see Jacob, who was hunched behind the  
computer monitor, so he circled around the desk. The boy  
didn't bother looking up, his eyes glued to the screen, and  
his thumb furiously stabbing buttons on the joystick.  
  
"I thought you said you were goin' to the store, Mama."  
  
"Hey, Jacob. What game are you playing?"  
  
Jacob's head snapped around and every muscle in his body  
tensed. His lips parted, and his eyes looked ready to jump  
out of their sockets.  
  
"Wha...What are you doing here?"  
  
Mulder strolled over and sat on the bed. "Just stopped by  
to see how you were getting along. You seem awfully  
surprised to see me, Jacob. How come?"  
  
Jacob's eyes narrowed and darted away from Mulder's,  
returning to the computer screen. "Just wasn't expectin'  
you, that's all."  
  
"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm lucky to be here. After  
I talked to your mom yesterday, I got really sick. So sick  
that I nearly died. I spent all of last night in the  
hospital."  
  
Jacob's fist tightened around the joystick, and he jerked  
it viciously from side to side, but his voice lacked  
emotion. "Really? That's too bad, Agent Mulder."  
  
"The puzzling part, though, is that when the doctor tested  
my blood, he found an extremely high concentration of a  
drug called Ergomar. People take it for migraine headaches,  
but if you take too much it can stop your heart. The thing  
is, I don't get migraine headaches, and until yesterday I'd  
never heard of that drug."  
  
Jacob didn't respond, but his tongue crept out of his  
mouth to swipe nervously over his lips. Mulder leaned  
forward, his elbows braced on his knees. He pitched his  
voice low and silky.  
  
"Your mom gets migraine headaches, doesn't she? In fact,  
Doctor Blake told me she takes Ergomar for them. Quite a  
coincidence - don't you think? If we checked your mom's  
bottle of pills right now, what do you bet we'd find five  
or six missing?"  
  
Jacob went very still. After a long silence, he looked at  
Mulder. "My mama would never hurt anyone."  
  
Mulder held his gaze and slowly shook his head. "Not your  
mother, Jacob. You. *You* took the pills from your mother's  
medicine cabinet. *You* ground them up, and when she turned  
her back, *you* put them in the sugar she gave me to put in  
my coffee."  
  
Jacob shook his head so hard it seemed likely to fly off  
his neck. "I don't...No! Why would I do something like that?  
I..."  
  
"Jacob, it's over. Why don't you save us both a lot of  
aggravation and tell me where Rachel is. You and I both  
know she wasn't abducted by aliens."  
  
"I...we saw lights, a big ship. Rachel..."  
  
"Rachel would be too frightened to chase a spaceship into  
the woods. You invented your entire story from the  
abduction experiences of other people. You saw me find  
those magazines, realized I was onto you, so you panicked  
and tried to poison me. But it didn't work, Jacob. None of  
it worked, and it's time to own up to what you've done."  
  
Jacob shuddered and his eyes flooded with tears. "You  
don't understand; it's not like that! I didn't mean to hurt  
her, just scare her a little. I was just mad, that's all."  
  
Mulder's stomach lurched and he barely concealed his  
turbulent reaction to the boy's words. "You were angry  
because you wanted a puppy. But your parents said you  
couldn't have one, that Rachel's allergies would make her  
sick."  
  
"She always spoils everything! It started the very day  
Mama brought her home from the hospital. Everybody makin'  
such a big fuss over her, talkin' about how cute she was.  
She didn't look so cute to me, all red-faced and squallin'  
like a stuck pig."  
  
"What happened, Jacob. Where is she?"  
  
Jacob shivered harder, and began crying in earnest. "I  
only meant to lose her in the woods, that's all. How was I  
supposed to know she'd trip and fall down into that ravine?"  
  
Mulder ran his hand over his jaw. "She fell and hurt  
herself? How badly?"  
  
Jacob shook his head, hiccuping. "I don't know, I don't  
know. She wasn't movin' at all, and she wouldn't answer me.  
I just knew I was gonna be in so much trouble if Mama and  
Daddy found out."  
  
"So you left her. And you made up the story about the  
flying saucer and the bright light." Mulder blinked back  
a  
wave of dizziness. He slipped off his suitcoat and loosened  
his tie.  
  
"I'm sorry! Are you gonna tell on me?" Jacob eyes were  
huge in his face, his tone pleading.  
  
"I need you to take me to where Rachel fell. Will you do  
that?"  
  
Jacob hesitated, then nodded, swiping his nose with his  
sleeve. Mulder rose and tilted his head toward the door.  
"Come on, Jacob. Show me."  
  
Dusk was falling, the shadows long and deep. Jacob led the  
way out the back door, across the yard, and into the trees.  
He repeatedly glanced over his shoulder as he stepped over  
gnarled tree roots and ducked under low hanging branches.  
Mulder followed doggedly, his heart pounding with an odd  
mixture of anticipation and dread.  
  
"How did you get her out here in the first place?" he  
asked.  
  
"Told her I discovered Luke's hideout and I'd show her  
where it was," Jacob answered, voice catching.  
  
"How come none of the rescue teams found her?" Mulder  
panted, blotting a trickle of sweat from his forehead.  
  
Jacob's shoulders pulled taut. "I dunno. The ravine where  
she fell was pretty deep. It was hard to see her, and she  
wasn't movin'."  
  
Five minutes into the woods Jacob veered off the trail,  
scrambling over a large, rotting log. Mulder imitated his  
movements, his dress shoes slipping and sliding on the  
slick, mossy surface. He swatted at a cloud of gnats that  
rose and buzzed around his head, struggling to keep up with  
the fleet-footed Jacob.  
  
"Jacob, slow down!"  
  
"It's just up ahead; she fell right over here," Jacob  
called, swinging his arm in a beckoning motion. "Hurry up!  
You can cut through those bushes."  
  
Mulder tripped on a rock, regained his balance, and broke  
into a trot as he neared the boy, who was now pointing down  
a steep hill. The thought that Jacob seemed overeager,  
nearly enthusiastic, flickered through Mulder's mind just  
as the ground vanished from beneath his feet. His stomach  
plummeted, and he instinctively flung out both arms as the  
world spun sickeningly.  
  
His forearms smacked something solid with enough force to  
wrench a scream from his lips, and his fingers scrabbled at  
the dirt. The impact halted his downward plunge, but his  
feet dangled helplessly over thin air. He attempted to  
wriggle onto solid ground, but merely succeeded in causing  
the dirt to shift so that he slid backward several feet,  
barely clinging to the lip of a very deep pit. Mulder  
pressed his forehead into the earth, sucking in great,  
sobbing gulps of air.  
  
The snapping and popping of twigs prompted him to lift his  
head, and he found himself staring at a pair of size four  
sneakers. Gingerly tilting his head further, he looked up  
into Jacob's indifferent face.  
  
"You wondered what happened to Rachel, didn't you, Agent  
Mulder? Well, now you know."  
  
  
Montgomery General Hospital  
5:09 p.m.  
  
  
When she'd first entered the FBI as a very young, very  
green agent, her encounters with violent death had sickened  
Scully. Whether a grisly casefile discussed during a  
training course, or a battered and barely recognizable body  
to autopsy, she'd had to struggle against her own dismay  
and revulsion in order to get the job done.  
  
Then came the X-Files, toughening her until she could  
dispassionately and clinically view a crime scene that left  
seasoned veterans pale and shaking. Through it all,  
however, Scully maintained a basic outrage when it came to  
murder. She found it very difficult to understand how one  
person could be driven to take the life of another.  
  
Until now.  
  
"And just exactly how long has Agent Mulder been missing?"  
  
The nurse, Cassie - a very young blonde who was even  
shorter than Scully - cringed under the weight of the  
agent's disapproving glare. "I couldn't say exactly, Doctor  
Scully. I went in to check on him about twenty minutes ago,  
just to see if he'd fallen asleep again and left that  
computer of his on." Cassie recovered enough of her nerve  
to send Scully a look of mild disapproval. "You know, the  
hospital frowns on patients usin' their phone lines for  
hookin' into the Internet. I tried to tell Agent Mulder  
that, but he just went and did it anyway."  
  
"Welcome to my world," Scully muttered. "So, you  
checked  
on him twenty minutes ago, and he wasn't there?"  
  
"No ma'am. His gown was just layin' on the bathroom floor,  
and Agent Mulder was nowhere to be found. Honestly, Doctor  
Scully, I've never had a patient just up and run out on me  
like this. It's real upsettin'."  
  
Scully patted her arm before shoving open the door to  
Mulder's empty room. "Don't take it personally, Cassie.  
Agent Mulder's ditches are completely indiscriminate."  
  
Cursing under her breath, she crossed to the small closet  
where she'd hung Mulder's clean suit. The empty hanger was  
not unexpected - the piece of paper propped up on the shelf  
only mildly so. Snatching it up, she stalked over to the  
window where she could read it by the waning sunlight.  
  
*Scully,  
  
I know how angry you must be, but don't reach for your gun  
yet. Contrary to what you're probably thinking, I've  
considered this very carefully. I'm pretty sure I can  
convince Jacob to confess, but only if I talk to him alone.  
He'd have a difficult time seeing you as the enemy, Scully,  
and you have the same problem. I know how hard you've  
struggled with your feelings on this case. Please  
understand that if I'm going to get Jacob to talk, I can't  
afford for him to sense any hesitation or ambivalence. I  
know better than to ask you to wait for my call, so I guess  
I'll see you at the Marcussens'. With any luck, by the time  
you get there, it will all be over.  
  
M.*  
  
Scully crumpled the note into a ball and headed for the  
door with it wrapped in her fist. Cassie stepped forward to  
ask a question when she emerged from the room. One look at  
Scully's face, however, and she scrambled quickly out of  
the way.  
  
She reached the Marcussen house just as Beth pulled into  
the driveway. By the time Scully crossed the lawn, Beth had  
pulled a small, plastic grocery bag from the car and turned  
to face her with a slightly puzzled smile.  
  
"Hello, Agent Scully. Did you have a pleasant trip to  
Charleston?"  
  
Scully arched an eyebrow. "It was beneficial. How did you  
know I'd gone to Charleston?"  
  
"Agent Mulder mentioned it. I didn't expect to see you  
here."  
  
"Agent Mulder is here now?" Scully followed her to the  
front door, relieving Beth of the sack while the woman  
fumbled for the correct key and slid it into the lock.  
  
Beth bobbed her head. "He wanted to talk to Jacob. Said  
he'd keep him company while I ran to the store. Hang on."  
She grabbed the bag from Scully and bustled off to the  
kitchen, returning empty handed a moment later.  
  
Scully followed her down the hallway to Jacob's room,  
trying to keep a lid on anger that threatened to bubble  
over. No matter how furious she was with her partner, it  
was imperative to remain professional in front of Beth and  
Jacob. Later, back at the hotel, she'd let him have it.  
  
"Jacob? I..." Beth trailed off, turning in a slow circle  
to  
scan the empty room. "Jacob?"  
  
Scully walked over to the bed and picked up her partner's  
discarded suitcoat. "Well, they must be around somewhere.  
Mulder wouldn't leave without his jacket."  
  
"Jacob? Jacob Samuel Marcussen, where are you?" Beth  
called, heading back into the hall.  
  
Several minutes later, after searching the house from end  
to end, they stood in the middle of the kitchen, Scully's  
face tense with suppressed worry, Beth's blank with  
bewilderment.  
  
"Where could they have gotten to?" she asked Scully.  
  
Frantic rapping on the back door absolved Scully of the  
need to reply. Frowning, Beth pulled it open.  
  
"Jacob, where...oh, Jess! What on earth is the matter, hon?  
You look like you've seen a ghost."  
  
Jess burst past Beth to seize Scully's hand. "Agent  
Scully, you gotta come quick!"  
  
Taken by surprise, the little girl managed to tug Scully  
several steps toward the door before she regained her wits  
enough to dig in her heels. She leaned over to better see  
Jessica's frightened face.  
  
"You have to tell me what's wrong, sweetheart. Where are  
you taking me?"  
  
Jess' eyes flicked over to Beth's face and then back to  
Scully. "Please! I just need you to come."  
  
Sensing the source of the little girl's discomfort, Scully  
nodded to Beth. "Let me see what this is all about, Beth.  
I'll be right back."  
  
Jess pulled her out the door and down the back steps  
toward the forest. When they reached the trees, Scully  
slowed her steps.  
  
"Jess, you have to tell me where we're going."  
  
"I was in the woods, lookin' for Luke, when I saw Jacob  
and your friend. I wanted to see what Jacob was up to, so I  
followed them for a spell. Luke's teachin' me how to become  
a secret agent," she explained proudly.  
  
"Go on," Scully said, but allowed the little girl to  
lead  
her into the woods.  
  
"After a while they left the path, and I couldn't see 'em  
no more. I didn't follow 'cause I knew Mama'd be real mad  
if she found out. We aren't supposed to leave the trail --  
even though Luke does it all the time." Her face screwed  
up  
into a pout. "Anyway, I started to walk home, figurin' they  
weren't comin' back. And then I heard it."  
  
Jess broke into a trot, and Scully hastened to catch up to  
her. "What, Jess? What did you hear?" The prickling  
feeling  
that scampered up and down her spine warned she wasn't  
going to like the answer.  
  
Jess slowed just enough to look Scully in the eye, her  
small face pale. "I heard a scream, Agent Scully. And I  
think it was your friend."  
  
  
Somewhere in the woods  
5:43 p.m.  
  
  
"Jacob, don't do this. You're not...going to get away...with  
it."  
  
Mulder's ribs protested the fresh abuse, and the muscles  
in his shoulders and arms trembled with exhaustion. He'd  
located a small ledge for his right foot, but the left  
still dangled freely.  
  
Jacob squatted down just beyond Mulder's reach. "You  
probably know there's a lot of minin' in this area, Agent  
Mulder. But did you know there's also a lot of old  
abandoned shafts that no one knows about? Some of 'em go  
real deep. You fall down one of them, and no one's gonna  
find you."  
  
"Agent Scully...will come looking. Knows...I'm here,"  
Mulder  
panted.  
  
"You *were* here," Jacob replied calmly. "And then  
you  
left."  
  
"Won't...believe you."  
  
Jacob shrugged. "I think they will. After all, everyone in  
this town knows me, Agent Mulder." His lips stretched into  
something that resembled a grin. "And I'm just a little  
kid."  
  
"I...didn't fall... for that act."  
  
Jacob's brows knit together. "I know. And you've really  
messed things up." He stood and stared down at Mulder for  
a  
long time, then swiftly lifted his foot and ground the heel  
of his sneaker into Mulder's left hand.  
  
Bright shards of pain sparked through Mulder's fingers,  
and he screamed. He reflexively loosened his grip, slipping  
further over the edge and losing his precious foothold.  
Several nails peeled back as he clutched at the ground, but  
he was able to grasp a protruding rock and once again stop  
his fall. He'd screamed Scully's name twice in sheer terror  
before remembering the futility of the gesture.  
  
"Jacob, don't...don't do this. You...don't have to...ahhh!"  
  
The right hand this time, but Mulder had seen it coming  
and somehow managed to keep his hand locked around the  
rock. He grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes tightly shut,  
tears trickling from the corners. Disjointed images  
flickered through his head, like a movie on fast forward.  
  
*"Caddyshack" playing and Scully on his couch, her face  
relaxed and serene. "Well, I'm fairly happy, Mulder, and  
that's something."*  
  
*Jessica Miller's wide dark eyes. "You gonna bring Rachel  
back home, mister?"*  
  
*Jacob's head bent over a model, his words cold and  
indifferent. "You can try all you want, Agent Mulder. But  
I  
don't think they're gonna bring her back."*  
  
*Beth's fluttering hands and pleading gaze. "Jacob's gonna  
be just fine; no cause to think history would repeat  
itself. None at all."*  
  
*Scully, rumpled and exhausted, her voice quivering with  
emotion. "I nearly lost you last night..."*  
  
*Sorry, Scully.*  
  
"NO!" he screamed as Jacob lowered his foot over the  
fingers yet again.  
  
"STOP! Don't do it, Jacob! Move away from him right now."  
  
Scully's voice, harsh and commanding, brooked no refusal.  
Jacob jerked in surprise, then slowly did as he'd been  
instructed, backing up several feet and watching her  
warily. Mulder heard the snapping of twigs as she  
approached, but kept his face pressed to the earth, every  
ounce of his remaining strength channeled into hanging on.  
  
"Sit down against that tree and don't move. Jess, run back  
to the house and tell Beth to call the sheriff." Scully  
barked the orders as she knelt to grasp Mulder by both arms.  
  
"Call...rescue squad," Mulder grunted as he wriggled  
forward  
with his partner's assistance. "Think I found...Rachel."  
  
Seconds later he was lying on his belly in the dirt and  
dead leaves, gulping in air and dizzy with relief. His  
fingers throbbed, the muscles in his shoulders clenched in  
painful spasms, and his ribs ached, but solid ground had  
never felt so sweet.  
  
"You feeling okay?" Scully's fingers drifted through  
his  
hair, but her eyes remained locked on Jacob.  
  
Mulder hauled himself to his knees, groaning. "Yeah.  
Stupid, but okay."  
  
Scully's eyebrow did its dance, and she pursed her lips.  
"I'll refrain from commenting, Mulder. For now, anyway."  
  
Mulder dropped his head into his hands and moaned softly.  
  
"What about me?" Jacob asked, voice quavering. "What's  
going to happen to me?"  
  
"We're going to make sure you get some help, Jacob."  
Mulder's head snapped up at the hard edge in Scully's  
words. Her face was grim but composed. "And that you can't  
hurt anyone ever again."  
  
  
******************************************  
  
EPILOGUE  
  
  
The Root Cellar Bar  
24 hours later  
  
  
"So when he finally woke up - or should I say, regained  
consciousness," Tim smirked at Mulder, who had buried his  
face in both hands, "you could see the imprint of the  
bathroom tiles all over the left side of his face. It took  
practically the whole afternoon for 'em to fade."  
  
Scully giggled merrily, a sound so rare that Mulder didn't  
really mind that it had happened at his expense. He pinned  
Tim with a long-suffering glare.  
  
"Are you finished yet? Or do you intend to further impugn  
my credibility?"  
  
Spencer propped muscular arms on the table and grinned.  
"Way I hear it, WonderBoy, there just isn't that much  
credibility to impugn."  
  
"Ha, ha," Mulder growled over Scully's snickering. "You're  
a real barrel of laughs tonight, Spence. They ought to hire  
you for live entertainment; you beat the heck out of the  
band."  
  
Scully sipped her Coke in a poor attempt to hide a grin.  
"So Tim... Why do you call Mulder, WonderBoy?"  
  
"Because he knows how much I hate it," Mulder muttered.  
  
Tim's grin softened to something less like teasing and  
more like affection. "I met him over ten years ago, in the  
summer of '89. Everyone was talkin' about Fox Mulder, the  
best profiler the Bureau had ever seen, a rising star. He  
was tactless, opinionated, and arrogant as hell. I hated  
him on sight." He chuckled softly, and Mulder joined him.  
  
"That's an understatement! We were partnered for several  
of those asinine exercises at a team-building seminar --  
through no choice of our own." Mulder shook his head  
ruefully. "It's amazing we didn't wind up killing each  
other before the day was through."  
  
"He was so cocky and sure of himself, I started callin'  
him 'WonderBoy' - and not in a complimentary way, as I'm  
sure you can imagine," Tim continued. "After nearly  
comin'  
to blows, we finally started to talk to each other. By the  
end of that seminar, we'd become friends, and I'd come to  
see that Mulder's reputation as the Bureau's Great White  
Hope wasn't all just smoke and mirrors."  
  
Mulder shifted and leaned back in the booth, his  
expression distant and pained. "That was a long time ago,"  
he said.  
  
Tim looked at him shrewdly. "Not so long, Mulder. You  
haven't lost your touch. You solved this case and brought  
that little girl home, just like I knew you would."  
  
One long finger, the skin marked with bruises, traced the  
rim of his glass. "By the time we got her out of that  
shaft, Rachel was more dead than alive. She'd fractured her  
leg in three places, and between the severity of the breaks  
and the delay in treatment, the doctors are afraid she may  
never walk normally again. Add to that the fact that Jacob  
has been committed to a psychiatric facility for what  
promises to be a very long time, and I don't think Beth and  
Sam Marcussen have a lot to thank me for."  
  
A small hand wrapped around the glass and tugged it away  
from his finger, forcing him to look up. Scully's intense  
blue eyes drilled relentlessly into his.  
  
"Mulder, Jacob had concealed the opening to that shaft so  
well, none of the search parties found it. The very fact  
that Rachel is still alive is a miracle. That sufficient  
run-off from precipitation had collected so she had water  
to drink, that her body was able to fight off infection for  
as long as it did, that she didn't succumb to overwhelming  
loneliness and fear - she held on, Mulder. She held on in  
hopes that someone would find her. And we did."  
  
Mulder didn't answer, but one corner of his mouth lifted  
in a crooked smile.  
  
Tim shook his head. "Same ol' WonderBoy. Always have been  
your own worst enemy - especially on the basketball court."  
  
Mulder gaped in outrage. "It's either been too long since  
we've played, Spencer, or your memory has deteriorated  
along with your talent. Even on my worst day I could..."  
  
"I think those drugs must still be percolatin' your brain,  
WonderBoy; you're delusional. I..."  
  
Scully just rolled her eyes.  
  
  
Wildwood Institute of Mental Health  
6 months later  
  
  
"I really, really never meant to hurt my sister, Doctor  
Shelton. Back then I guess I just didn't know how to deal  
with my anger and frustration, and I lost control." Jacob  
broke off studying the geometric pattern in the carpet to  
look his psychiatrist in the eye. "I understand now, that  
what I did was very wrong. And since I've been here at  
Wildwood, I've learned to express anger in more acceptable  
ways. I just hope that someday Rachel can forgive me."  
  
Dr. Shelton leaned back in his leather chair with his  
fingers steepled beneath his chin. "I'm very glad to hear  
that, Jacob. You have made incredible strides since you've  
been here. The nurses and therapists all give you glowing  
reports. I'm very proud of you."  
  
Jacob smiled, ducking his head shyly. "Thank you, Doctor  
Shelton. Comin' from you, that means a lot."  
  
"You can run along to dinner now; I'm sure your group will  
be waiting for you. I'll see you on Tuesday, same time."  
  
"Sure thing! Tonight's pizza - wouldn't want to be late  
for that!"  
  
Dr. Shelton waited for Jacob to pull the door shut behind  
him, then reached for the small tape recorder on the corner  
of his desk.  
  
"Jacob Marcussen continues to make incredible progress in  
both individual and group therapy. As evidenced in this  
session, he has clearly begun to understand the impact of  
his actions, and his own culpability. If he continues to  
improve at the present rate, I have hopes that he will be  
spending this Christmas at home, with his family. While  
reintegration will provide its own set of difficulties, I'm  
confident..."  
  
The doctor continued to drone on, but Jacob pulled his ear  
from the door and smiled. He'd heard everything he needed  
to hear.  



End file.
